


It's the doubt.

by lil_slug



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 1985, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Friendship, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-05-09 17:17:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 106,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14720318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_slug/pseuds/lil_slug
Summary: Mike Wheeler doesn't remember doing it. They tell him he is suffering from an illness, but that doesn't mean he can forgive himself that easily. Something is seriously wrong with him. Or is it the world around him that's wrong?





	1. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we are.
> 
> I feel like I can't really explain this AU without giving away too much. Basically, what you have to know: Things went radically different after Season 1. Be prepared for mysteries galore.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, no proof reading was done. :)
> 
>  
> 
> Small update (March 2, 2019): You might have just stumbled across this. It's been a long time since the last update and I realize some readers might have left this fandom while others have just found their way here. In any case, I hope you enjoy and comment (I'm fucking starved for comments),

_...floating..._

 

_...falling..._

 

_...floating...?_

 

_...where...?_

 

_...when...?_

 

_...how long...?_

 

„Michael!“

 

_...black..._

 

_...falling..._

 

_...dead...?_

 

„Michael! Listen to me!“

 

_...breathing..._

 

_...dark..._

 

_...cold..._

 

„...no use...“

 

_...alone..._

 

_...confused..._

 

„...no further medication... ...more harm than anything else... ...later...“

 

_...letting go..._

 

_...sleep..._

 

 

* * *

 

„...hear us?“

 

He‘s got a body. He thinks. He thinks he‘s got a body. That‘s a relief. Up to here, it‘s all been just floating, bodyless, dark, cold. But he‘s not nothing. He‘s something. Someone.

 

How does he know he‘s a he? Couldn‘t he be something else? A girl? A woman? No, that‘s out of the question. Why, he doesn‘t know, but it‘s a fact.

 

„I‘m not sure. Michael, can you hear me? Do you think you can communicate in any way?“ The voice is clear than before. Now, it‘s only ten miles away. The words take an eternity to reach his consciousness. _Communicate._ He thinks he knows that word. _Michael. Michael!_ He thinks he knows that name. It belongs to someone he knows. Everything is black. Except for that moment when everything is white, for a short period of time.

 

„Pupils dilating normally. He‘s not reacting otherwise.“

 

„Doesn‘t mean he‘s not awake.“ It‘s actually two voices. One male, one female. The male is speaking. It‘s hard to follow. Exhausting. „Michael, if you can hear me, this is going to hurt, but just for a moment.“ He‘s not grasped the meaning of those words, when a sharp pain stings his... something. What is it called? He knows the word. His... _finger!_ Something sharp stings his _finger._ A hissing sound follows. Did he produce it himself?

 

„Susceptible to pain. Good. Give it another twenty minutes. Michael, listen to me. Try to stay awake, okay? Even if it‘s hard, don‘t slip away, if you can.“ Okay. Okay. He thinks he can do that. And why wouldn‘t he? The voices are good. They‘re something to hold on to, because it‘s either this or floating. Falling. This isn‘t cold. Well, it‘s not warm either, but it‘s not cold like that other place. That no-place, that means nothing. Being nothing. Feeling nothing.

 

 _Michael_. That name! What does it mean? It‘s someone close to him. Someone he knows well. Someone he thinks he knows well. Someone he sees every day. But where? Where does he see that Michael? An explosion! It‘s loud, roaring in his ears like an earthquake. He‘s got it! Michael! He sees him in the mirror. It‘s _him!_ _He_ is _Michael! Michael_ is _him!_ Only he likes to be called Mike. He‘s pretty sure of that. He doesn‘t know who exactly calls him that, but he‘s used that abbreviation.

 

Okay. Mike knows his name. That‘s something. But right now, it takes all his strength to keep it. The constant threat of it slipping away from him is pulling him down. The nothing is close. It‘s engulfing him, but it doesn‘t have him yet. What did the voice say? _‚Try to stay awake.‘_ He‘s trying. It‘s hard, but he‘s managing. ‚ _Don‘t slip away!‘_ His finger is still tingling. The pain was unpleasant, but this is a good feeling. He‘s alive. There‘s a world around him. He can... he can move!

 

 

* * *

 

Mike exhales. It makes a sound. Nothing intelligible. A sound nonetheless, and it‘s not even far away, like those voices that came to him an eternity ago. He‘s feeling pain. It‘s dull, and it‘s everywhere. In his legs, his arms, his back, his stomach, his neck. Really, he‘s just listing all these body parts in his mind to make sure he‘s still aware what he‘s made up of.

 

The next thing he notices is, he can see. Mike can‘t see a lot, and the bright, rectangular light that he sees is blurry around the edges. It‘s swirling, and restless. Then, there‘s a shape, darker than the light, and in front of it, running up and down his vision. A hand? It‘s not a conscious decision, but his eyes follow it. Mike recognizes a corner. The place where two walls meet the ceiling. He‘s in a room.

 

„Michael.“ The male voice is back. „I know you can‘t speak, but could you blink two times if you understand what I‘m saying?“ Mike complies. It‘s easy, really. Blinking two times, no big deal.

 

‚blink blink‘

 

The voice becomes calmer. „That‘s good. Very well done, Michael. I‘m here to help you. Do you understand?“

 

‚blink blink‘

 

„Good. Good. Don‘t worry. You‘ll be able to speak again soon. I‘ve seen you moving your fingers. Can you make a fist with your right hand?“ Mike is weak. He feels like he‘s made out of rubber, all uncoordinated and somehow soggy. Though he can‘t see his own hands, his attempt at a fist probably looks unshapely. The man he can‘t see is satisfied, however. „You‘re making progress. Left hand?“

 

His left hand is the one he‘s felt the pain in previously. It‘s easier to make a fist. While it doesn‘t exactly feel strong, Mike experiences some level on control, and that‘s comforting. What happened anyways? Is he injured? His aching body would make it seem like he‘s been in an accident of some sort. That would also explain why he doesn‘t remember anything. Sure, there‘s his name, but Mike still really has no idea who he is.

 

„Very good, Michael. Now, let‘s try something more difficult. Can you lift your head? Just for a second?“ This proves more difficult. Mike can feel the strain in his throbbing neck, when the sensation of the back of his head touching whatever surface he‘s lying on, disappears for just a brief moment. „Exceptional! You can say no if you don‘t feel fit for it, but I‘d like to try and get you upright. You wouldn‘t have to hold yourself. Is that okay? Blink once for no, twice for yes.“ Mike doesn‘t think. Sitting up? That sounds too good to be true right now.

 

‚blink blink‘

 

„Good. This won‘t hurt a bit.“ A screeching sound follows, accompanied by a gentle push in Mike‘s back.

 

 

* * *

 

„‘m I...“ What was that? Another voice? „...am I?“ It‘s his own. That‘s a realization so other-worldly, he doesn‘t know if it‘s true. Mike hasn‘t been able to keep track of time. He‘s been sitting up for a while now, following orders from that voice he keeps hearing. ‚Curl your index fingers‘, ‚Move your feet‘, and so on. So far, everything has worked, with the need for a lot of effort, of course. Mike‘s vision is clearer now. Things are still moving around him, but the shapes and colored surfaces, even patterns. Like the dark blue dots on the mint green hospital gown he‘s wearing. The outlines of his own toes. Time to focus on his voice again. „Where am I?“ The words are slurred, distorted, but audible. There‘s a silence, that drags on long enough to make Mike think the person next to him has left.

 

„My name is Doctor Barnes. Do you remember talking to me before?“

 

„No.“ Mike doesn‘t remember a thing. „Tell me where I am.“ Surprised at how strong his voice is, he even manages to turn his head. Mike can see clearly now. The walls around him are white, tiled and illuminated by bright neon light. There‘s a desk with shiny metal legs, shelves filled with what looks like medical equipment. There are two people present. The woman Mike has heard before is sitting behind the desk. She‘s got her back turned towards Mike, but to him it looks like she‘s writing something down. All he knows for sure is, her stature is slim, and her semi-long dark hair is tied into a ponytail, that‘s barely touching the white scrub top she‘s wearing.

 

The man who has been talking is in full view, facing Mike. He‘s old, what‘s left of his hair is white, his black glasses thick, framing the small eyes in the middle of his round face. Wearing a white coat over a green, checkered shirt, Mike doesn‘t exactly know what to make of him. He‘s smiling, but there‘s concern in his face, too.

 

„Where am I?“ Mike repeats, more forcefully this time.

 

The man sighs. „I‘m afraid, I can‘t tell you that right now. Last time I did, it didn‘t go well. I know I‘m asking a lot here, but could you try to trust me, Michael?“

 

Mike thinks for a moment. Can he trust the man, this Doctor Barnes? _‚Last time it didn‘t go well‘_. What did he mean by that? What happened before? Mike decides, it‘s best to play along for the moment. He‘s too weak to do anything about his situation anyways. „Okay.“

 

„Very good.“ Barnes is back to smiling. „I‘m going to start with a few basic questions.“ He‘s holding a clipboard and a ball pen. „Can you tell me your full name?“

 

„Michael Theodore Wheeler.“ Wow, that was easy. The words just slipped out of Mike, and now he knows his own name. Great. Doctor Barnes scribbles down a few notes.

 

„Correct. Do you know your parents‘ names?“

 

As it turns out, Mike does, and he even remembers their faces, and their house. „Karen Wheeler, Theodore Wheeler.“ he says.

 

„Good. Good. How many siblings?“

 

There‘s no effort involved here. It‘s as though every question Barnes asks him activates parts of his memory he‘s not aware of. „Two. Nancy and Holly.“

 

„Very well done. Do you know what year it is?“

 

„1985. October, I think. Don‘t know the date.“ With every word that he speaks, Mike feels himself growing stronger. It‘s a good feeling, relieving, regaining control.

 

„Don‘t worry, you can‘t possibly know the date. It‘s the sixteenth. That makes you how old?“ the doctor asks.

 

„Fourteen.“ Mike answers.

 

„Great.“ Barnes praises with a satisfied smile. „I think you‘re ready for-“ The door busting open doesn‘t startle Mike in the least, but Barnes and the woman at the desk both flinch.

 

„Doctor Barnes!“ a voice calls. „An emergency!“

 

„Can‘t you see I‘m busy?“ Barnes grunts. „Send Gerber!“

 

„He‘s not here yet. You‘re the only-“

 

„On my way, dammit!“ the doctor sighs, and leaves, not without giving the woman in the room one last order. „Keep an eye on Michael.“ Then he‘s gone, but to Mike‘s immense relief, he isn‘t left alone in the room. The woman, probably a nurse, is already by his side before the door slams shut. Her face is slim, with kind, bright eyes. But along with his vision, and his sense for his own body, his mind is returning to him. Where the hell is he? What the hell is going on? What happened? Suddenly, Mike can‘t breathe. Panic. He doesn‘t want to be here. It‘s as though his lungs have collapsed. In the corners of his eyes, his surroundings are growing blurry again.

 

„Michael?“ the nurse‘s voice is already far away, all but inaudible. „Stay with me. Stay...“ But he doesn‘t.

 

 

* * *

 

This time is different. Mike‘s eyes practically fly open, and he‘s awake and aware. Just a second ago, he‘s talked to a doctor and a nurse. He remembers every word they spoke, every answer he gave. Mike remembers his life. Hawkins, Indiana, his hometown. His parents, his sisters, his friends. Mike remembers...

 

„There he is!“ the now familiar voice of Doctor Barnes says. „You had us worried there again, Michael. You were gone for almost ten minutes. But you‘re looking better. How do you feel?“

 

„Everything hurts.“ Mike groans. He finds the strength to rub his upper arms with his hands, and that gives him some comfort. The fog that‘s been hanging in front of his mind is now seemingly lifted. This is a doctor‘s office. If there‘s a nurse present, he‘s likely in a hospital. Currently, Mike is sitting on a dark leather stretcher, with the back part lifted to keep him upright.

 

„You‘re not injured, if that‘s what you're thinking.“ the doctor remarks. „You‘ve just experienced a lot of stress. Are you scared?“

 

„Yeah.“ Mike admits. The panic is gone, but his insides are rambling. Something‘s obviously wrong with him, otherwise, he wouldn‘t be here.

 

„You‘re at the Saint Bernard Hospital in Chicago.“ Barnes says, obviously struggling to keep the tone causal. „And you‘re going to be fine. Let‘s try and get you to your feet. Think you‘re strong enough for that?“

 

„I‘m gonna try.“ Mike desperately wants to be strong enough to stand upright.

 

„Just a second, Michael. Nurse.“ the doctor calls across the room. The woman Mike has seen before hurries from the desk to the stretcher. Mike is not prepared for what happens next. He can see her reaching for him. She‘s reaching _under_ the hospital gown he‘s wearing, and soon, he feels something being removed from _there_. Up until now, he didn‘t even know there was something there. She takes the shiny object and places it somewhere out of his sight. A small glimpse at it is enough to make him feel hot all over, especially around his cheeks and ears. It‘s a bedpan. A damn _bedpan._ And the nurse is good looking. Why does Mike even notice that in his current state? Yeah, she‘s attractive. He curses his own mind for even imagining this, but she has probably placed it there. His blushing doesn‘t go unnoticed.

 

„Healthy reaction, buddy. Sorry, you spent a few hours here.“ Doctor Barnes laughs. The nurse turns to him, a comforting smile pulling on her lips.

 

„Already wiped that from my memory.“ she says. „My name‘s Sybil, by the way. Just to have that out of the way.“

 

„Okay...“ Mike tries to smile back at her, but it feels like it doesn‘t exactly work.

 

„Ready to stand up and take a few steps?“ the doctor asks. Mike nods in response. He manages to pull himself up so that his back is resting against the wall, feet dangling down from the stretcher that‘s too high up for him to reach the ground. The nurse offers him her hand, and Mike takes it without hesitation. He can‘t do this on his own. It‘s better to admit that to himself, than to trip, knock himself out again, and have her repeat the whole procedure down there.

 

„On the count of three.“ Sybil says. „One... two... three...“ Mike slides down from the stretcher. The tiled floor is cold against his bare feet, and gravity is pulling him down at three times its usual strength, but he is standing up without having to rely on the nurse to hold him. She‘s just there to help him keep his balance. Shaking heavily, he takes a step, and comes to a halt.

 

„You‘re on a good way, Michael. I think you‘re going to be back to full strength within a day or two.“

 

„But why? What‘s happened to me?“

 

The doctor and the nurse exchange an uncomfortable glance, before he answers „Don‘t worry, I‘m going to explain everything to you. It‘s just that, I‘ve told you before, and it didn‘t go well. Give me five minutes.“ He takes a few steps across the room towards the desk, where he picks up the phone and dials only two numbers. „David? Yes, it‘s me. Could you bring Karen Wheeler up here? Her son is awake. Thank you.“

 

„My mom is here?“ Mike suddenly sounds small, uncomfortably weak and vulnerable. Just as vulnerable as he feels right now. But he isn‘t injured. He‘s going home with his mom soon.

 

„You‘re in the hospital. Where else would she be?“ Sybil chuckles. „Sit down again, okay?“ Mike lifts himself to the stretcher again, this time remaining seated with his own strength. He doesn‘t have to lean on anything anymore, to his immense relief. Sybil hands him a pair of thick socks. „Put these on, the floors are cold.“ Leaning down to pull them over his feet requires quite a bit of coordination, and it takes longer than putting on socks should.

 

„How long-“

 

„In time.“ Sybil interrupts him. „Wait for your mom, okay? She‘s gonna be here any minute.“ She is right. Soon, there‘s a knock on the door, but instead of waiting for a reply, Karen Wheeler just busts into the room. Mike‘s heart jumps and drops at the same time. She looks so tired. He‘s never seen his mom like that, dark rings under her eyes. And he‘s rarely ever seen her so furious.

 

„What is this?“ she shouts directly into Doctor Barnes‘ face. „It‘s cold in here! How long have you kept my son-“

 

„Mrs Wheeler...“ the doctor tries, but is cut off rudely once again.

 

„He‘s not wearing anything proper either! Where‘s his-“

 

„Mrs Wheeler!“ Barnes‘ voice is firmer already, but it‘s not enough yet.

 

„He doesn‘t even have a blanket! How am I supposed to-“

 

This time it isn‘t the desperate looking doctor who interrupts her. „Mom!“ Mike shouts as loud as she does to get her attention. It makes her choke on her words, and in a matter of seconds, she‘s by his side, just in time for Mike to collapse into her embrace. He doesn‘t cry. He can‘t, but still, his hands clutch into her jacket, as if his life depends on it. It‘s weird, even stupid. Mike is not a little kid who needs his mom around all the time anymore, but right in this moment, he doesn‘t care. Independence doesn‘t matter now, as much as he wants to be a grown up, he isn‘t. He doesn‘t know what‘s going on, or what‘s wrong with him, and that‘s just too much to bear without her being there for him.

 

„It‘s okay.“ she chokes up so quietly Mike can barely hear her. „You‘re gonna be okay, baby. Nobody‘s angry with you, okay? They‘re all worried. They‘re-“

 

„Mom?“ Mike interrupts again, pulling back from her to see her tear-stained face. „Why... why would anyone be mad? What happened?“ If seeing her in tears because of him was terrifying, her eyes growing wide with shock have twice the effect on him. Now, that she‘s looking at him as if she‘s scared of him, Mike‘s heart picks up speed again.

 

„He doesn‘t even remember?“ she hisses in the doctor‘s direction. „Michael, you don‘t remember?“

 

„Remember what?“ he pleads. „Mom, I just woke up. I‘ve no idea what‘s going on! They promised me they‘d tell me once you‘re here.“ He doesn‘t care if calling Barnes and Sybil ‚they‘, as if they weren‘t in the room with him, is inappropriate or rude. In all honesty, Mike is fed up with the secrecy. He wants to know. He _has_ to know what‘s happening to him. Doctor Barnes takes a deep breath.

 

„What you have to understand is, you‘ve woken up once, about four hours ago in the ambulance. We‘ve brought you to this room after that.“ He shoots Mike‘s mom a glance. „And I‘m terribly sorry to say that, but it didn‘t go well. It‘s... it‘s my fault really. You see, I was too quick with telling you, and you didn‘t take it well. It resulted in a major panic attack, and we had no other choice but to sedate you.“

 

„Panic attack?“ Mike‘s mom screeches. „Where exactly was I when that happened? Who do you think gives you the right to treat my son like that?“

 

„Mrs Wheeler, I think this is not the time and place to discuss my rights and responsibilities. I‘m here to help Michael, and if that‘s in your interest too, there‘s nothing you have to fear of me.“ Barnes sounds quite exhausted, and his words and tone seem to have a soothing effect on Mike‘s mom. Not on Mike, though.

 

„Can anyone just tell me what‘s wrong?“ Mike finally demands. „I‘ve had it with your talking around it, okay?“ The silence that follows is short. Barnes adjusts his glasses, stepping towards Mike and his mother. He pulls himself his chair, leaving Sybil sback at the desk.

 

„Okay.“ he says seriously. „What‘s the last thing you remember?“

 

Mike has to think. Images pop up in front of his inner eye. An all too familiar living room, small but homely. Familiar faces, and the corresponding voices. „I was... I was at my friend Will‘s house.“ he answers carefully.

 

„Can you go further?“

 

Mike is trying, but a sharp pain behind his forehead, a terrible pressure in his eyes, and blinding white lights make it impossible to remember. „Can‘t.“ He has to close his eyes, burying his face in his hands. „What happened? My friends!“ The realization hits him like a ton of bricks. Whatever happened to him, Dustin, Max, Lucas and Will were present when it happened.

 

„Michael...“ Doctor Barnes wipes his forehead with a sleeve of his white coat. „This is a psychiatric hospital. More specifically our station for patients under the age of eighteen. You‘ve suffered a serious mental breakdown.“ It‘s ridiculous. The doctor is talking gibberish. His words are making absolutely no sense whatsoever. „Did you understand that?“

 

„Excuse me, what?“ Mike‘s head is spinning.

 

„I said, you‘ve suffered a mental breakdown. You‘re at a psychiatric hospital.“

 

This time, he understands. Well, he recognizes the words Barnes is using. Though, that doesn‘t mean Mike gets a full grasp on what exactly he‘s trying to tell him. A mental breakdown... What is that even supposed to mean? Whatever it means, at least now there‘s that little bit of relief, knowing it‘s over. Breakdown happened, breakdown over, he‘s going home. „But I‘m better now, right?“

 

„I‘m afraid it‘s not that easy.“ the doctor tries explain. Mike can hear his mother quietly sniffling next to him. He sits down on the stretcher, wrapping both arms around him protectively. „You see, you‘re here on a court order.“

 

Mike‘s been hit in the face. The words leave his ears ringing, just like that one time when he visited an air show with his parents, and a jet fighter passed over them at such low altitude that he couldn‘t hear a word for an hour straight. It‘s basically the same feeling. „Court order?“ He‘s not sure if he has spoken, or just thought that.

 

„There‘s no easy way to put this, Michael.“ Barnes sighs. „You‘ve injured two of your friends. Lucas Sinclair and William Byers.“ This time, Mike understands right away, and it‘s sickening. His stomach is twisting inside of him, ready to jump up and out of his wide open mouth any moment. Luckily, the doctor isn‘t oblivious to that feeling of his. Right in time for Mike to throw up, the man holds a shiny metal bowl under his chin. The sickness doesn‘t vanish entirely after that, but it‘s manageable, especially because of how tight his mom is squeezing him now.

 

„I told you they‘re not angry, honey.“ she all but whispers. „Don‘t worry, they‘re fine. Some stitches, that‘s all. They don‘t hold anything against you.“

 

„Stitches?“ Mike yelps. „How-“

 

„Apparently...“ Barnes‘ voice is quiet and calm „...you‘ve used a kitchen knife. Your local police chief hasn‘t completed his report yet, so I‘m as clueless to the details as you are, at the moment. I‘m expecting to get all the necessary information tomorrow. Of course, you‘re not being tried. In that case, you wouldn‘t be here. But a judge has ordered treatment, and that‘s what I‘m here for. We‘re gonna get you back on track. Meanwhile, I‘d advise you to listen to your mother. Nobody is blaming you for this.“

 

„A knife...“ Mike repeats in utter disbelief. „I‘d never- I couldn‘t- mom, I didn‘t do anything!“

 

„I‘m sorry, sweetie.“ It hurts to know his mom is crying because of him. „I wish I could tell you... anything. But it‘s true.“ And like that, Mike is falling again. He isn‘t weightless, like before when he was stuck in that no-place. Quite the opposite, he feels heavy, too heavy to keep himself upright without the help of his mother. She doesn‘t let him go, though.

 

„This is a lot to process, I‘m sure.“ Doctor Barnes continues in a stern tone. „But I promise you, we‘re going to get to the bottom of this. You‘re here, you‘re safe, everyone‘s going to be fine. That‘s the most important part. I know you‘ve just woken up, but it‘s already past eight, and since being unconscious or delirious isn‘t a substitute for sleep, you should say your goodbyes for now. You‘re exhausted.“

 

„Goodbyes.“ Mike‘s voice is suddenly void of emotion. A new wave of panic is already forming. _Goodbyes._ „Mom, I‘m going home with you. Right?“ She‘s obviously not prepared for this, as her grip on him tightens painfully. _Court order._ She doesn‘t have to say it. Neither do Doctor Barnes or Sybil. Mike knows the truth. He‘s not going home. But she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks promising? God, I hope it does. I don't think I'll be able to work out an update schedule, mainly because chapter length is going to vary. Chapter 2 is gonna be slightly longer, but it'd be a small miracle if I could keep this up. Just feels like I should build up relationships slowly here.


	2. 706 in 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go. Chapter 2. Not a lot happening here, though. This is all turning out way larger than I thought, but I'm not complaining. I've never had so much fun writing before.
> 
> Also, I upped the rating. Mental hospital isn't a preschool.
> 
> Also also, thank everyone for the comments on Chapter 1! I love the feedback!

It‘s not a prison. It‘s a hospital. Mike has to remind himself of that constantly, otherwise that simple fact would slip from him like a wet bar of soap. Really, it might as well be a prison. There‘s hallways, endless hallways the nurse, Sybil, is escorting him through, hand on his shoulder. They‘re lined with gray metal doors, some including small windows. The gentle touch Mike feels is as comforting as it is terrifying. He isn‘t under any illusions. She‘s doing this to be able to hold him in case he goes haywire, which he is, admittedly, dangerously close to. Just how long can these hallways be? How huge can this hospital be? Or is it small? A wooden shed in someone‘s backyard? Bigger on the inside than on the outside, like on that British TV show Dustin can never shut up about lately?

 

Dustin... Max… Lucas and Will. Mike has to focus on walking. Every step he takes, he makes himself aware that he‘s moving his legs, to get his mind off of what happened. He can‘t think about them right now, or he‘d lose it, and that‘s the last thing he wants. God knows what these people would do to him if he went running down the corridors.

 

„There we are.“ Sybil‘s voice is hushed, but echoes in the empty hall. „Your room.“ She unlocks the door with the number 22, and guides Mike inside. He was half expecting to find two beds and a roommate, but objectively thinking, this would be ridiculous. He‘s dangerous. An animal. A _monster_. He has hurt his friends, he could have killed them. His shaky steps seem to betray him, because Sybil tries at a reassuring tone. „Don‘t worry. You‘re going to sleep well tonight. Usually, bedtime is 9 PM for our younger patients, and 10 PM for everyone age sixteen and up. So, we‘re pretty much on time. Breakfast is at 7 in the morning. And I‘m gonna get you something better to wear tomorrow, okay? Goodnight.“

 

That‘s just too much information for Mike to grasp at once. She has already turned back to leave the room, probably in a hurry to end her shift and get home, when he croaks „Miss... I mean... ma‘am...“ She turns back to face him, giving Mike a warm smile.

 

„Just Sybil.“ she says. „Some people around here don‘t like that I‘m on first-name terms with the patients, but we‘re gonna see each other pretty much every day, except on Sundays, so let‘s not make it more complicated than it has to be.“ It‘s in that moment, that Mike decides, he likes her.

  
„Sybil...“ he says, still slightly uncomfortable with calling her that. „I‘m not... I mean, I didn‘t want to... I‘m not dangerous.“ When he finally manages to get it out, it‘s as though a lump that‘s been sitting in his throat is shrinking slightly. He just had to tell someone. Someone here just had to know that he never wanted any of this. Even if it doesn‘t matter, because he‘s already done it, Mike never wanted to hurt anyone. Then again, if he didn‘t want it, doesn‘t that make him even more threatening to those around him? Doesn‘t that mean he‘s an unpredictable risk? And like that, the lump is back, twice its former size now. Mike‘s words turn her expression into a sad, but compassionate one.

 

„I know you didn‘t want to harm your friends. And if you trust the doctors here, you‘ll be better in no time. Listen, I really have to clock out. I‘ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Michael.“ She steps back into the hallway, closing the door behind her. Through the small glass window, that‘s shot with a web of metal wire, she smiles back at him, while the lock on the door clicks. The sound of it makes Mike sick to the bone. He doesn‘t miss how she said, she knew he never intended to hurt anyone, but nothing about him not being dangerous.

 

Then she‘s gone, and Mike is alone. Up until now, he hasn‘t really registered his room. It‘s hard to make out a lot of details, because it‘s already dark outside, and the only light that‘s illuminating the walls comes from the hallway outside of his door. What he does notice is the window, because there are stars in the sky. It‘s a clear night. He takes the few steps over to it, but finds he can‘t see anything outside but the stars, and a few lights in the distance.

 

Now, though, his eyes are beginning to adapt to the darkness. The room is maybe about the size of Mike‘s own bedroom at home, but it seems a lot larger, due to being so empty. There‘s a bed, of course, slim with a thin metal frame and white sheets. Opposite to it, a desk without legs is fastened to the wall. It‘s really just a wooden board, and in front of it, a round stool that Mike is convinced is screwed into the floor. Sure, there mustn‘t be anything he could use to hurt himself, or the doctors and nurses. It‘s a relief to notice, he‘s got his own toilet an sink too, right behind a room divider that‘s tall enough to conceal the important areas from the window in the door, but not tall enough to hide behind.

 

Seeing all this, it‘s getting increasingly hard to keep that reassuring thought ‚ _It‘s not a prison‘_ without it beginning to seem ridiculous. Everything in here basically screams _‚Prison‘_. The fact alone that he‘s locked up for the night is enough to convince Mike of that. It‘s either that, or an insane asylum. Yes, that‘s it. It‘s Bedlam. It‘s Arkham Asylum. And if Mike really did what they claim he did, he‘s a perfect fit, as sad and unsettling as it is. He can‘t remember anything, but that‘s just further proof, he belongs here.

 

Mike can‘t really believe Sybil‘s words. He doesn‘t think he‘s going to get a second of sleep in this room, but since there‘s nothing else to do, he decides to try anyways. Mike slips under the covers of the slim bed, keeping the thick socks on because his feet are just too damn cold, and lets himself sink into the too flat pillow. Nothing about this is comfortable. Not the bed, with its thin mattress and harsh sheets, not the cold room with literally nothing in it, that isn‘t screwed in place, not his mom crying when they made her leave, and told her visiting hours are Saturdays between 1 PM and 4 PM, _not his friends being hurt._ Mike closes his eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

It‘s bright. Just a second ago, it was dark in this room. Mike is absolutely convinced, he‘s just closed his eyes for a second. It wasn‘t any longer than blinking usually takes. Yet, here he is, in the same room as the night before, only it‘s bright now. This isn‘t the electric neon light the doctor‘s room was tinged in. It‘s warm, with a hint of yellow, and its origin is the window in the wall. Mike doesn‘t need to think. He doesn‘t need to try and remember what happened. Waking up away from home, not knowing where you are is probably just a cliche anyways. Mike knows. But it‘s still hard, once the realization sets in.

 

‚ _I‘ll see you on Saturday, sweetie. I love you.‘_

 

His mother‘s last words to him sting in Mike‘s chest more than he‘d like to admit. Deciding to get his mind off it, he swings his legs out of the bed, bringing his feet in contact with the cold Linoleum floor. It‘s white as the walls, maybe tinted with a shade of light green, and the pattern of red and blue dots on it is assaulting to the eyes, to say the least. One more thing he didn‘t notice the night before is, there are metal bars in front of his window. Well, he should have figured that out without seeing them, really. The window is also secured with a lock, so he can‘t open it by himself.

 

The desk is still there, as well as the stool that‘s fixed in front of it. Then there‘s the toilet, and god, Mike really has to use it. He rushes over, shooting a glance at the still locked door. Only when he‘s sure no one‘s watching, Mike sits down, just to hiss at the freezing sensation the metal seat causes him. It‘s weird doing it like this, with the hospital gown pulled up, but still hanging over his knees, and he desperately wishes he already had the clothes Sybil promised him in the evening. From his position opposite to the bed, he notices something else that‘s new.

 

There‘s a shelf on the wall right above the bed, and sitting on it a dark hazel teddy bear. Whatever that means, he shrugs it off. Probably left here by another patient. Once he‘s done with his business, Mike takes some time to check the window again. Now that the sun is rising, there are several things he notes. The first is, the hospital is somewhat remote. His room is facing a street, but there‘s nothing on the other side but a long stretch of nothing, only spotted by dried grass here and there. Otherwise it‘s all brown ground. In the distance, the lights he saw the night before have made way for buildings of all shapes and sizes. Sure, this is Chicago, but what part of it, he can‘t tell. He‘s never been here before. What he does know, though, is that his window is facing west, since he can‘t see the sun, and the hospital building produces a long shadow that stretches relatively far into the large plane, that‘s probably a meadow during the warmer parts of the year.

 

To be honest, the sight of it is boring him. Or he just can‘t stand it. Of course, there‘s a nervous tension to everything right now, and Mike can‘t exactly think straight. It‘s his first day at a mental hospital. He‘s alone, he might be a threat to others, and he has absolutely no idea as to what awaits him. The time he has to wait for something to happen only makes it worse. He doesn‘t have a clock in his room, but since it‘s October, and the sun is already rising, it can‘t be long until breakfast. Time drags on slow like honey anyways, even if it‘s just a few minutes.

 

Restlessly, Mike lets his gaze wander across the empty room, only to find a red object under the stool. Picking it up, he recognizes it as a plastic cup. Well, that‘s obviously something necessary. He pours himself water from the sink, to chug it down greedily. After having repeated that process two times, Mike settles back on the bed, for lack of a better thing to do.

 

Minutes pass. Hours pass. Actually, they don‘t. It just feels like it, which causes Mike‘s leg to twitch nervously. Absently, he begins humming a melody, staring at the ceiling above him. Before he knows it, his humming turns into quiet singing, just loud enough for himself to hear it.

 

„There has to be an invisible sun... it gives its heat to everyone... There has to be an invisible sun... it gives us hope when the whole day‘s done...“

 

It‘s hard to pass the time, but when he hears the footsteps outside in the hall, Mike still desperately wishes they‘d let him wait a little longer. He wants things to change, but at the same time, he doesn‘t want to know what‘s coming next. It‘s clearly only one pair of feet walking outside, and to Mike‘s surprise, his door is opened, without there being any hint of other doors being unlocked in the hallway. He doesn‘t know the woman who enters, but since she‘s dressed in the same scrubs Sybil was wearing yesterday, it‘s safe to assume she‘s a nurse, too. Only, she‘s tall. Taller and likely older than Sybil, and thin as a twig. Her face is a mask of contempt and disgust, and right when Mike is already asking himself what he‘s done wrong now, she snarls „Breakfast. Twenty minutes.“ She places the tablet she‘s carrying on Mike‘s desk, and leaves without another word. The lock clicks again.

 

He‘s too dumbstruck to say anything, keeping his wide open eyes on the desk. Soon, there‘s a commotion outside. The sound of doors being unlocked, then many distinct footsteps, some voices, as the remaining patients are released from their rooms. Mike doesn‘t want to see them. Not right now. The nurse has made it pretty clear to him, he‘s unfit for having breakfast with the others. Sure, he‘s a danger. A potential murderer. A proper lunatic. So, he stays in bed, hoping none of them would come to his door to take a look at him.

 

It‘s only when the footsteps vanish, that Mike dares to move. Previously unaware of his racing heart, it‘s now making him breathless. Three steps over to the desk where his food is waiting, but it feels like a marathon. He collapses onto the stool, taking a look at the tablet for the first time. He doesn‘t know what he expected, but this isn‘t too bad. A peanut butter sandwich, a bowl of cereal with milk, and an apple, that admittedly looks pretty good. Only, his appetite remains within borders, though Mike figures, they‘re gonna check if he‘s eating properly, so he chokes down a spoon full of cereal. That‘s when it hits him. He‘s never been that hungry in his life.

 

The bowl is empty quicker than he can even think about the fact that it‘s utterly tasteless, so is the sandwich. The apple is delicious, and Mike doesn‘t leave any of it behind, not even the core. The feeling of having his stomach full is beyond comparison, too good to be true. It doesn‘t feel like twenty minutes are over already, but there she is, unlocking his door. If he has to be brutally honest, he doesn‘t like her, so it seems only logical not to look at her, when she enters his room.

 

„Michael? Good morning.“ Involuntarily, his head snaps around, only to find, it‘s not the nurse from before, it‘s Sybil. His relief must be visible, since she immediately says „You‘ve been expecting someone else?“

 

„Yeah. Morning.“ he shrugs, attempting to play it cool. „I thought-“

 

„Nurse Plummer is watching our other patients for breakfast. Not a good first impression, huh?“

 

„It‘s okay.“ he says. „I‘ve been treated worse.“ That‘s the truth. After all, Nurse Plummer didn‘t beat him up and call him a fag. „I was just wondering... why... you know... Why in here?“

 

„You mean breakfast?“ she asks. „This hospital believes in group therapy. But not today.“ When his expression turns into one of fear and hurt, she quickly adds „It‘s because we‘re not done with the intake procedure. You need a medical checkup, and that‘s what I‘m here for. I‘ll make sure you‘re not suffering from a contagious disease. Are you done eating?“

 

Mike nods in response. „I didn‘t think could sleep. Or that I‘d be so hungry.“

 

„I did.“ Sybil chuckles. „It‘s always like that on their first nights. We should get going.“

 

„Okay.“ Mike checks around the room, as if he‘d find anything he‘d have to take along.

 

„Don‘t worry.“ Sybil sighs. „It‘s empty right now, but you‘re allowed to put up photos, drawings, you can have books if someone gets them for you... We can get you paper and crayons. Must have felt like a prison cell tonight, huh?“

 

„Did anyone leave that here?“ He vaguely points in the direction of the teddy bear on the shelf.

 

„Actually, no. Some of our patients find these comforting. You get to keep it afterwards. Most feel too grown up for these things and just leave, though, and that‘s fine.“

 

 _Precisely that_ , Mike thinks, following her into the empty hallway. Now, all the doors are wide open, and walking down the corridor, with her hand on his shoulder again, he manages to get a glimpse of some other rooms. Their layout is equal to that of his room, but most of them are colorful, or personalized in some way. Sybil was right, he can make out photos, a lot of them, actually. It‘s weird. Last night he could have sworn he walked mile after mile in these halls, but now, it‘s only a couple of feet to the examination room he woke up in.

 

„Wait here for a second, okay?“ Sybil vanishes into the room, but emerges only seconds later. „We‘ll come back later. Take this.“ She hands Mike a pile of white clothes. God, why does everything here have to be white? On top of the pile rests a pair of mint green slippers. Oh wonder, no shoelaces. „This way.“ With a gentle push to his shoulder, she leads Mike around a corner, through a large, heavy door, and then down a hall he hasn‘t seen before, until they come to a halt in front of a door with an unbelievably promising symbol on it. It‘s true. Mike doesn‘t smell too good. „You can take a shower in there. I‘ll be waiting right here.“

 

„Yeah.“ Mike doesn‘t hesitate to swing the door open, and while he was already ecstatic at the prospect of getting to shower, he‘s still somewhat relieved at the sight in front of him. Finally, some color. The tiling on the floor is yellow. But what‘s really good to see is, that there are individual shower cabinets, even large enough to keep the clothes away from the stream of water, and get dressed inside.

 

How could he ever describe what it feels like to step into the warm water? Dustin likes to use the phrase _‚This is better than sex‘_ a lot when he‘s really into something, and even though Mike isn‘t exactly experienced concerning _that_ , he figures, it‘s fitting. He didn‘t even realize just how damn tense and sore he was, until now that it‘s slowly getting better. Right now, the water just can‘t be hot enough. There‘s a small supply of shampoo and soap, and since he knows he can‘t stay in here forever, he gets to work, scrubbing the filth off of himself. Well, it‘s mostly his own sweat really, so it‘s not visible, but at least he imagines to feel is running down on him, until nothing of it is left.

 

He doesn‘t want to get out. _‚Just ten more seconds.‘_ Ten seconds later, he tells himself _‚Just ten more seconds.‘_ Then, another ten seconds later, it‘s _‚Okay, ten more seconds, for real this time.‘_ He takes a deep breath, when the noise of the shower stops, leaving him without the heavenly sensation. Time to dry off and get dressed. The clothes he got from Sybil, gray underpants, white pants, a white shirt, and gray socks, fit and don‘t fit at the same time. They‘re incredibly light and loose, but not loose enough for him to be scared of losing his pants. It‘s just an unfamiliar feeling, compared to polo shirts and jeans. Still better than running around all but naked with a better rag draped around him, though. The slippers are too large, and Mike has to be careful not to trip over them.

 

 

* * *

 

The stench of disinfectant assaults Mike‘s nose, before he‘s even taken the step into the examination room. It still looks the same as before. White tiles on all four walls and the floor, the ceiling more of a light gray. There‘s the leather stretcher he woke up on, the desk with two chairs, and a couple of metal closets that appear to be locked.

 

„Take a seat.“ Sybil orders, closing the door behind them. „This won‘t take too long. Nothing more than a routine checkup.“ In that case, Mike knows what to expect. He‘s been to the doctor‘s office plenty of times. Blood pressure, pulse, etcetera... She unlocks one cabinet, and Mike can‘t help but wonder if the heavy keychain she‘s carrying pulls her down. There‘s keys in all shapes and sizes, and the worst part is, none of them are labeled. Still, she doesn‘t need to search for the fitting one. The first thing the produces is a stethoscope. Then a... Mike can‘t exactly remember the way too complicated name. He‘s only read it once or twice.

 

She wraps is around his arm, before pumping it up, and pressing the stethoscope right below it. Through the pressure around his arm, Mike can feel his own pulse. Probably way too fast, but what is he supposed to do?

 

„That‘s awfully high.“ Sybil sighs, not without smirking. She takes a few notes, and then proceeds to hold her fingers against Mike‘s wrist, while keeping an eye on her watch. „Tsk tsk tsk... 120.“ she chuckles. „Don‘t worry about it. Next week you‘re not gonna be as nervous about this. We‘ll take your blood pressure, pulse, body temperature and weight once a week. Open your mouth.“ Mike does as he‘s told, to allow her to insert the thermometer. „Don‘t open your mouth for a minute. No talking, no humming, no nothing, okay? And no biting down on it. This is mercury.“ She grins. „You don‘t wanna know how many adults can‘t even follow these basic instructions. You‘re better than that, right?“ Mike responds by nodding, smile pulling on his lips. He‘s fine with this, as long as he doesn‘t have to take it up the ass. For a minute, he follows the second hand on the clock that‘s hanging above the door.

 

„99.7.“ Sybil notes, taking a look at the thermometer. Mike is vaguely aware, this is above normal.

 

„What does that mean? Something wrong?“

 

„Patient nervous.“ she talks out loud while taking notes again. That‘s pretty much true. Mike‘s stomach is a heavy lump of anxiety and loneliness right now. „All good. I can‘t expect you to be calm about this. Shirt up.“ She‘s back to using the stethoscope to listen to Mike‘s heartbeat. It‘s the usual drill. Taking a few deep breaths, coughing, repeat with stethoscope on the back. The metal is cold against his skin, but he doesn‘t complain. „Sounds good. From what I can see, you‘re healthy. I‘ll just have to take a blood sample, and once we‘ve got the results, you‘re clear to meet the patients.“

 

That‘s something Mike doesn‘t like at all. Needles. Especially the ones used for taking blood samples. They‘re thick, and they usually stay under your skin way longer than the ones used for a simple flu shot. As if his paling face is visible, Sybil gives him a gentle push. „Lie down. That helps.“ Mike does so, and it doesn‘t take long for her to skillfully insert the needle. It‘s a little pathetic to feel so sickened by the sight of your own blood flowing into a test tube, so Mike decides to close his eyes, just to prevent himself from throwing up. _‚Fairy boy Wheeler‘_. It‘s undeniable, even Troy is right sometimes.

 

„All done.“ And with that, the stinging pressure in his arm is gone, and Mike can feel a band aid being placed on that spot. „Didn‘t hurt at all, right?“

 

„Wasn‘t too bad.“ he shrugs untruthfully. To him, it was bad. But then again, he really is a bit of a fairy. Only, Sybil doesn‘t need to know everything. He opens his eyes to find something round and red hovering in front of his face. „A lollipop? Really?“ It‘s so absurd, he can‘t help but laugh, but really thinking about it, he finds it quite insulting. „No thanks, I‘m not a little kid.“ Hearing that, Sybil rolls her eyes.

 

„I‘m not either.“ She rips off the plastic and pops the candy in her own mouth, just to fetch another one and wave it in front of Mike‘s eyes again. „Who said you had to be a little kid for this?“ He takes it only hesitantly, but the sweet taste of artificial cherry is, to his own surprise, somewhat soothing. It comes with a need to apologize, too.

 

„That came out rude. Sorry.“ he mumbles around the lollipop, that‘s now dangling from in between his lips.

 

„Yeah, but I get to eat candy now.“ she chuckles. „So we‘re good. Come on, we need your height and weight to finish this. Stand against the wall, and don‘t move.“ With his back and heels against the wall, Mike feels a gentle push on the top of his head. „5 foot 5.“ Sybil mumbles. „You‘re catching up to me.“ She‘s right. Standing upright, Mike is just a few inches smaller than her. „Step on the scale, and we‘re done.“ Mike pretty much knows his own weight, as he‘s constantly reminded of it by his mother. _‚Eat more, Michael.‘_ God, he doesn‘t know how many times he‘s heard that sentence. But actually, he‘s going through meals like a combine lately. He just seems incapable of putting on weight. „116 pounds. How much are you eating?“

 

„Honestly?“ Mike asks. „A lot. Never seems to be enough.“

 

„Well...“ she shrugs. „You‘re tall for your age. It all goes into growing vertically right now. It‘s gonna get better once you‘re grown up. We‘re not gonna let you starve here. Okay. We‘re done here. I‘ll bring your blood samples down to the lab, but it‘s gonna be a day before we get the results.“

 

„So.“ Mike sighs heavy-hearted. „It‘s back to...“ He‘s close to calling it his _‚cell‘_ , but thinking of it like that would only make it worse. „...my room.“ he chokes out. How long are they going to leave him alone this time?

 

„I‘m... I‘m terribly sorry about that.“ There‘s an honesty to her voice that surprises Mike, even though he‘s already decided Sybil is his favorite person around here so far. „You were an emergency intake. Usually, patients arrive here conscious, and better prepared.“ She takes a look at her watch. „You have an appointment with Doctor Barnes at 10, just under two hours from now. In the meantime, I‘ll try to get you something to read.“

 

It‘s only a small solace. Mike almost feels stupid for asking this, but it‘s important to him, just to kill the suspense before it kills him. „Could I... get a clock?“

 

„Another thing they usually bring from home.“ Sybil sighs, pulling herself a metal chair from the desk. She steps on it, to remove the clock from above the door, and hands it to Mike. „Remember: Your mom brought you that.“ she smirks.

 

 

* * *

 

Back in room number 22, the clock reads 8:20. More than one and a half hours to go. One and a half hours alone with himself, and his thoughts, and he can‘t even pull the stool to the window. Instead deciding to stand, he takes another look outside. The shadow is significantly shorter already, indicating the sun is higher up by now, but still not visible. It‘s pretty obvious now why they call Chicago the ‚Windy City‘. Mike can‘t see any trees nearby, but there are colorful, tumbling leaves, that are swirling around violently in the unrelenting breeze. The ticking of the clock he‘s placed on his desk for now is soothing, though it‘s not fit to distract him. Having something to do, even if it was just for an hour, and someone to talk to, was nice. Of course, Mike understands this isn‘t solitary confinement. It‘s just what‘s necessary for now. But what if it‘s going to be necessary for longer? What if he loses it again? He wishes there was something he could do to prevent his thoughts from going there.

 

From last night‘s experience he knows, trying to remember his breakdown hurts. It physically hurts him, so he‘s trying not to go there. That doesn‘t mean he can keep himself from thinking about his friends, though. Trying to picture them in front of his inner eye, Mike finds some comfort in imagining them being here with him. He can almost see Will‘s small, slim stature. Max‘s fiery red hair. Dustin‘s curls. Lucas‘ bandana. So what if Mike is dangerous? If he can never be around them again without being eaten by the terrible guilt, and fear of hurting them again? He can imagine them, can‘t he?

 

Mike tries to hold the images of nights spent watching cheesy horror movies, or playing Dungeons and Dragons tight, and it works for a while. But only until it happens. A brutal, gut-kicking dizziness sets in, accompanied by flashes of a _face_. It‘s scared, and lost, and wet in the dark. Wide hazel eyes. A shaved head. With tears picking in his eyes, he can only stumble towards the bed. The realization is just too terrible; He‘s forgotten her. He never has before. There has been so much going on, so many things to process, but that‘s no excuse. Mike can barely speak through his dry sobs, but he has to try. He‘s never done this in the morning.

 

„El... I know it‘s not our usual time, and... and I don‘t have my Supercom. I just hope you can hear me anyways. It‘s day 706...“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaaaaaat?
> 
> For the next few chapters you're in for a lot of interaction between Mike and Original Characters.
> 
> btw, some of this is inspired by my own time in a psychiatric hospital.


	3. Blur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. Massive thanks to everyone who left Kudos or commented!
> 
> Severe angst ahead, I guess.

„Michael.“ the doctor greets him with a firm handshake at the door to his office. Mercifully, Nurse Plummer, who has escorted him here, leaves without another word. He‘s already fed up with her. _‚Wheeler. Hurry up. Your appointment‘_. These were literally the only ways she said to him, before roughly pushing him through the corridors. No asking him how he is, or if he needs anything. What he really would have needed is a little more time. His message to El has left him so shaken up, he doesn‘t know if he actually can answer any questions right now. But this nurse is so radically different from Sybil. It‘s not just appearance and attitude. Her hand was bony and harsh on his shoulder the whole time, with long, red fingernails digging into his flesh painfully. Pretending to adjust his shirt collar, he takes a look at the spot. Mike is absolutely sure, if his mom saw the light bruising that‘s forming there, she would sue the hospital in an instant. Not that he wouldn‘t mind that nurse losing her job, but he wouldn‘t want her to do that. His family don‘t need to worry about him more than they already do. „Please, come in.“

 

This office is different, in a good way. It‘s not all tiles and plain, white walls. Instead, there‘s brown carpet, and while probably scratchy office carpet, it‘s still an improvement. So are the walls, painted in a pleasing beige, hung with diplomas on one side, and photos of people, likely family, on the other. The doctor even keeps a tall plant in a corner, right next to two comfortably puffy looking armchairs.

 

„Yes.“ Doctor Barnes remarks, pointing Mike in the direction of one of the armchairs. „I don‘t like these sterile rooms around here either. It‘s... well if this wasn‘t a mental hospital, I‘d say ‚depressing‘. Water?“

 

„Huh?“ Mike finds himself distracted by the glass on Barnes‘ desk.

 

„That‘s Ulysses.“ he explains, with a maybe a bit too loving glance at the goldfish inside. „A gift from my wife. I just like to keep something alive and moving around here. Did you ever own a pet?“

 

„We... uh... had a cat when I was younger. She was run over.“

 

„Shame.“ Barnes sighs. „Where were we? I... asked if you wanted something to drink.“

 

„Uh, yes please.“ Mike makes his way to the armchair and nonchalantly drops into it. It‘s as relaxing and comfortable as it looks. The anticipation of their following talk, however, isn‘t. There‘s a certain tension here, and the doctor seems to sense it to.

 

Handing Mike a plastic cup of water, he says „Try to relax, okay? Your pulse was awfully high this morning, wasn‘t it?“

 

„I think it was at 120 beats.“ Mike admits. „But I‘m not exactly sporty.“

 

„Not sporty, huh?“ Barnes chuckles. „Well, you‘re going to be in no time. Let me get your file first.“ Just a few steps away, behind his desk, he pulls out the top drawer from an ugly metal closet that doesn‘t fit the somewhat homely atmosphere of his office, just to fumble around inside for a while. „Let‘s see.“ he mumbles to himself. „Wheeler... Wheeler... There it is. Right in the back. What a surprise, huh? X, Y and Z aren‘t exactly common initials for last names.“ The man‘s attempts at lightening the mood in all honors, it doesn‘t help Mike a lot. Neither does the sheer size of the stack of papers and folders Barnes is carrying over to them. How can there already be so many files about him? His face drops, obviously visibly.

 

„Ah, don‘t worry.“ Barnes waves it off. „These include all your medical records dating back to June 1971. Your first few months are missing, but I think I wouldn‘t gain a lot of insight into your mental health from these anyways. Standard procedure. I‘ve looked through everything, and it looks like you didn‘t have any major problems up until now. A broken wrist at age seven, chickenpox a year later. This folder...“ he shows Mike the one that says _‚Michael Theodore Wheeler - Medical Records‘_ on the front. „...could be exchanged for any of my other patients‘ records. But this one...“ He produces one with a blue, triangular shape that‘s got _‚Hawkins Police‘_ printed on it in gold letters. „...this one is important.“ Mike feels his throat clenching. How much has the chief found out about him?

 

„Chief... uhm...“

 

„Powell.“ Mike informs the doctor.

 

„Yes. Chief Powell has really made sure to get us all the information we need. These are...“ Barnes shifts through the folder. „...comprehensive statements from more people than I want to list right now.“

 

„So...“ Mike all but whispers in a shaky tone. „How bad is it? I mean... Will and Lucas.“

 

„I can tell you that much, they‘re going to be fine. Lucas Sinclair sustained a cut to the thigh, William Byers a...“ There‘s a short, uncomfortable silence, before the doctor sighs. „A stab wound to the shoulder.“ A stab wound. Mike can‘t allow himself to cry in front of Doctor Barnes. His nails clench into the armrests painfully, and this doesn‘t go unnoticed. „It‘s nothing life-threatening.“ Barnes tries to assure him.

 

„Doesn‘t matter.“ Mike says, voice thick and high pitched. With every word he‘s speaking, his talking is growing faster and more forced. „I could have killed them. And I can‘t even remember, I mean, how can I just wield at knife at them and then-“

 

„Michael.“ The man‘s voice is calm, as he adjusts his glasses. „I think it‘s too early to go there. Before I tell you any details, I want to get to know you. Just be assured, judging from your friends‘ official statements, they‘re worried about you. They‘ve all made it very clear, they want you to get better. Okay?“ Mike can‘t answer. A simple nod has to be enough, and that‘s a lie as it is. Nothing is okay.

 

„Good. Today, I really just want to talk about you. How have we been treating you so far?“

 

Mike takes a while to answer. In the end, he figures, he should just stick to the truth, even if it‘s not too pleasant. After all, he‘s here to get help, though he doesn‘t really believe he deserves it. „It‘s... I haven‘t really gotten to do anything so far. It‘s lonely.“

 

Doctor Barnes nods understandingly. „Your case is unusual.“ he explains. „Usually, we don‘t keep new patients away from the group for so long. It‘s really just about the blood test. We have to be sure you‘re not carrying a contagious disease. Tomorrow, you‘ll be having breakfast with the others.“ As much as Mike wants the isolation to end, he‘s scared of what might happen if he loses it again. It‘s happened before.

 

„But what if I do anything? Like, if I just snap?“ he asks bitterly. „I‘m a threat.“

 

„I have to stop you there.“ Barnes sighs, calm as ever. „If I told you why I don‘t believe you to be dangerous, I‘d have to dive too deep into the recent incident. For now, please take my word for it.“ Mike can‘t do that, but since the doctor‘s sincere tone doesn‘t allow for objection, so he just tries to swallow his concern and listen. „Just some basic questions first. Have you ever hurt yourself on purpose. Or thought about doing so?“

 

„No.“ Well, maybe that one time he jumped to his certain death to save Dustin‘s life, but that‘s not something he‘s going to discuss with a psychiatrist. Or really anyone who wasn‘t involved in the events of 1983. Attempted altruistic suicide likely doesn‘t count anyways. It‘s not like he actually had a death wish back then.

 

„Good. Have you ever heard noises, or seen things that you knew weren‘t there? Could be a door slamming. Someone calling your name. Or even discolorations in your vision.“

 

„Not that I would know.“ Mike shrugs.

 

„Noted. These were really just the basics I have to ask every patient about. Would it be okay to get more specific? You can stop me anytime, if you think we‘re moving too fast.“

 

„I‘m good.“ he says.

 

„What about alcohol? Mind you, this isn‘t about snitching a beer from your father when he isn‘t looking. Do you drink regularly?“

 

„No. Absolutely not.“ Mike‘s answer seems maybe a little too forced, but what is he supposed to say? It takes a bit longer for Barnes to take the necessary notes, before he proceeds.

 

„What about drugs. Have you ever used anything illegal? Marijuana, LSD, something in the lines of that?“

 

„No!“ Mike can‘t help but sound shocked the doctor is even considering this.

 

Adjusting his glasses once again, he remarks „I need you to be honest with me here. Frequent use of psychoactive substances can lead to a wide variety of mental illnesses. I‘m not your police chief. You wouldn‘t be charged for possession. This is about me trying to help you. The same goes for prescription medication. If, for instance, a patient frequently abuses drugs, I have to keep that in mind in regards to possible side effects. So?“

 

„Never.“ Mike insists. „Not even once.“

 

„Good. I wasn‘t trying to accuse you of anything. Should we move on? We‘re still not talking about the incident.“

 

„Would you...“ Mike has to take a deep breath to get it out. „Would you stop calling it that? ‚Incident‘?“

 

Doctor Barnes furrows his brows. „What would you call it then?“ There‘s nothing Mike can respond to that. He just remains silent, avoiding the doctor‘s eyes. „Like I said, we‘re not going to talk about it today anyways.“

 

„Okay.“ Mike breathes. „Just... forget what I said. Call it whatever you want.“

 

„In time, we‘ll examine it, and maybe we‘ll even find a better word for it. For now, let‘s focus on your family. Your mother. How would you describe your relationship?“

 

And there it is. It‘s almost enough to make Mike laugh, this stereotypical movie-psychiatrist talk. But maybe, there‘s something to it. At least, it won‘t hurt to answer. „Well I guess...“ he mumbles, before he realizes he really has to think about this.

 

„It‘s okay. Take your time.“ Barnes offers.

 

„I mean, you‘ve seen her, right?“ Mike finally asks, after a good minute of pondering about what exactly to tell the man. „And I guess you‘ve talked to her alone?“

 

„Sure I have.“ he confirms. „She loves you. But I want to know how you feel about her.“

 

„The same.“ Mike plainly says. „I mean, it‘s not like we‘re talking a lot, but... I guess she‘s always there. Or she‘d be there if I wanted to talk.“ Barnes writes that down in his notebook, a small smile playing around his lips. Mike doesn‘t know what to make of this, especially because he doesn‘t ask any further questions about her, seemingly satisfied with the vague answer.

 

„Now, about your father. Are you close to him?“

 

This time, Mike doesn‘t need quite as long to think. „I wouldn‘t say that.“ He‘s surprised by the coldness of his own voice. „He‘s rarely home. And when he is he‘s just... sleeping. Reading his newspaper. Stuff like that.“ Barnes nods, scribbling away, and Mike gives in to the impulse to add „But I don‘t mind. Seriously. I don‘t.“ What‘s really weird to see is, that the doctor isn‘t surprised by any of his answers.

 

Mike isn‘t trying to keep it that vague on purpose. Quite the opposite, he‘s trying to remember occasions, experiences with his parents, good or bad, it doesn‘t matter. But the memories just won‘t come. He can picture himself sitting at the dinner table with them, like every night. He can hear his mom asking him about school. His dad demanding silence from behind the newspaper. He can imagine the party‘s D&D sessions in the basement. He knows what his classrooms at school look like. He remembers talking to El every night ever since she vanished fighting the Demogorgon. But there‘s nothing specific. Not a single conversation he‘s had with his parents, or Nancy, or his friends. Not a single campaign he‘s written, though he knows there were plenty of exceptional ones. Not even a single thing he‘s told El through his Supercom. And the worst part is, he can‘t even find the words to explain this to Doctor Barnes.

 

„How about your sisters? Holly and Nancy? I understand, Nancy has left for college this year?“

 

„Yeah.“ Mike confirms. „She‘s in... uh... in... ugh, what‘s it called...?“ This is frustrating. He doesn‘t even know where his sister is going to college!

 

„Atlanta.“ Barnes helps him out.

 

„Yes!“ Mike exhales deeply. „Atlanta, thank you.“

 

„Actually, I lied.“ the doctor reveals, much to Mike‘s shock. „She‘s in Boston. This was to probe the extent of your memory loss. You‘re having a hard time remembering the time before you woke up here, am I right?“

 

„Yes.“ Mike chokes up. His throat is dry and scratchy. He doesn‘t know what else to say.

 

„Do you have any idea how far back this memory loss dates?“

 

As a matter of fact, Mike thinks he knows, but he‘s having a hard time putting his finger on it right now. There‘s a suspicion forming in the back of his head, but that‘s too terrifying to even consider. What if it‘s got something to do with what happened to Will? With El? With the lab and the Upside-Down? A gray fog has settled around crucial parts of his mind. „I don‘t know.“ Mike is feeling himself too close to tears, and he can only hold them back by mustering all the strength he has left, not leaving any energy for his voice. It‘s all over the place, jumping up and down. „Maybe it‘s two years... I mean... yeah... the last two years, and... what‘s happening?“

 

„I think it would be best to end this for today.“ the doctor quietly says. His face is showing genuine concern, and understanding. „We‘re beginning medication tomorrow morning. Nothing too drastic, I promise. I‘m calling the nurse to get you back to your room for now. From now on, we‘re going to talk twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays. It‘s likely we won‘t meet in between these talks. You see, I‘ve also got classes to teach. We‘ve got two other psychiatrists working here, though. Doctor Noble and Doctor Jurgens. They‘re around basically all day, six days a week, so if there‘s an emergency, you won‘t be alone. During the nights and on Sundays, a physician will keep an eye on our patients. Varying personnel. Including yourself, we‘re currently treating 22 patients here, and trust me, that‘s enough to keep three doctors busy.“ He picks up the phone from his desk, and dials just two numbers. „Yes. This is Barnes. Would you please pick up Michael and bring him back to his room? Thank you.“

 

They wait in silence, the doctor flipping through, or sorting some files on his desk, while Mike can‘t do anything but stare at his hands. This is just plain cruel. First, he‘s made aware of his severely damaged long-term memory, just to be left alone with his thoughts in an empty room for another... well, the clock reads 10:50, so he‘s got roughly 20 hours to go before he gets to talk to anyone again.

 

A knock on the door rips him out of his dark thoughts again. The sight of Nurse Plummer isn‘t a surprise to him, but it still manages to drag him down even further. „Follow me.“ she hisses, but Doctor Barnes doesn‘t seem to be quite done yet.

 

„Just a second! I‘ve found it.“ He approaches Mike, handing him an opened, white envelope. Then, reading from a handwritten note he‘s holding in his hand, Barnes proclaims „The witnesses urged me to send you this envelope with my formal report. Calvin Powell, Chief of Police, Hawkins, Indiana.“ Mike stares at the envelope. _‚The witnesses‘_. So, the note is basically saying, his friends have used the police chief as a mail service to send Mike something. „You‘ll forgive me for opening it, but the personnel is obliged to check any private mail for our underage patients, save for letters from their lawyers. Safety regulations. Anyways, you should read it. Have a good day, Michael.“

 

 

* * *

 

Being pushed out of the office, suddenly being robbed of all color again, Mike just has to wonder how much worse this day can get. His brain is scrambled, possibly beyond repair. He‘s facing a full day on his own, with nothing to distract him with but a letter that‘s probably full of the hate and accusations he rightfully deserves. Mike is numb all over, too numb to even feel the nurse‘s hand gripping his shoulder like the claw of a crane. This time, he even wants the hallways to drag on forever. Only, they don‘t. He‘s back in his room before he knows it. „Lunch at 1. Keep quiet.“ Mike doesn‘t feel like asking her why exactly he should keep quiet. Why can‘t he shout? Why can‘t he kick dents into the metal door until he breaks his feet? Why in the world would they care? He‘s probably the only patient in his hall right now. Nobody would hear him, and he‘d rightfully get his punishment. The envelope lays on the ground, discarded and forgotten, for the moment.

 

‚ _Have you ever hurt yourself on purpose. Or thought about doing so?‘_ Well he has now. It‘d be easy. So damn easy. He‘d just have to position himself by the wall, try to pick up as much speed as he possibly can on his way to the door, keep his head lowered, and hope for the worst. Mike is seriously preparing himself for this, when something new catches his eye.

 

A pile of book is resting on the desk, and Mike could cry. He is saved. He doesn‘t want to hurt himself. He wants to get better. He wants to get out of here eventually, and go back to his life that‘s waiting for him, even if that‘s far in the future. He‘s got books, and he isn‘t going to die. Mike frowns slightly at the folded note, that‘s resting on top of the pile. It‘s all crayon, crude handwriting in way too large, uneven letters.

 

‚ _Hey, Inmate 22. Solitary confinement sucks balls, so here you go. I didn‘t know what you like, so I sent you a bit of everything. Don‘t worry, you‘ll get a chance to kiss my ass tomorrow at breakfast. See you then.‘_

 

Flicking the paper to the side, not without the hint of a smile, Mike picks up the first book. Something about Astronomy. Not bad. Something he‘s been interested in since he was a little kid. Then there‘s Robinson Crusoe. Forever associated with his mom telling him to read the classics. He hasn‘t before, but in a way, he‘s curious. The next one is slim, but Mike‘s heart grows two sizes at the sight of it. The Hobbit. No doubt, he‘s going to read that. He hasn‘t in a while. Well, maybe he‘s read it in the last two years. Not that he could remember. There‘s even some horror. Something Wicked This Way Comes. Well, that‘s enough to keep Mike occupied for a while.

 

Pondering on what book to read first takes a while, because really, they‘re all interesting. In the end, it‘s The Hobbit for him. _‚In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit.‘_. The first sentence sends comfortable chills down his spine. It‘s a piece of childhood, right here in his hands. And that makes it enough to let the minutes fly by fast enough for Mike not to mind anymore.

 

The dwarves arrive on Bilbo‘s doorstep, completely taking him by surprise. So does the male nurse, who unlocks the door to bring Mike‘s lunch. He‘s a guy in his mid-thirties, plump, to say the least, but his expression is friendly.

 

„How you holding up there, buddy?“ he greets. „Michael, right?“ Mike nods, getting out of the bed to approach him. The tablet the man sets down on his desk, but it‘s covered by a gray plastic lid. „My name‘s Lime. So... hungry?“

 

„Not really.“ Mike admits. „But I wasn‘t this morning either until I took a bite.“

 

„Classic.“ nurse Lime chuckles. „I‘ll check up on you every couple hours today. This gotta suck, right?“

 

„Yeah. I got some books, though. Don‘t know who sent them.“

 

„But it‘s enough to keep you entertained till bedtime, right?“ the man asks.

 

„Pretty much.“ Mike confirms. He doesn‘t say _‚Could you not end every sentence with ‚right?‘‘,_ but it‘s certainly tempting. He figures, it‘s just a quirk. People are allowed quirks, _right?_ „I‘ll be fine.“

 

„I‘m sure you will. Listen, I gotta go. Bon Appetit, right?“

 

Right. Right right right right right. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mike remembers that detective‘s handbook for children he got for his sixth or seventh birthday, along with a small police hat, a badge made from real metal (how cool was that?), handcuffs and a plastic revolver. _‚If you want to know the truth, don‘t ask suggestive questions.‘_ But then again, he can‘t expect the nurse to be genuinely interested. This is just what he is getting paid for, after all. Mike is still unsuccessfully trying to remember the cover art of that book, when the lock clicks again, and the round shape of Nurse Lime‘s face disappears from the small window. So, that‘s how it‘s going to be today. Reading, which actually isn‘t bad, with some pointless intermezzos, consisting of _‚You‘re good, right? That‘s good. Goodbye.‘._ Mike removes the lid from his plate to reveal what he‘s probably going to stuff down his throat half a minute from now.

 

It‘s hospital food. Plain and simple. Something that looks like it once was a slice from a sawdust-stretched meat loaf, back when Mike‘s grandma was still swinging her hips to Teddy Wilson songs, along with some small, yellow rubber balls, that turn out to be potatoes. And broccoli. Which he likes. People have called him weird for that before, but he never understood all the fuzz kids make about broccoli. For dessert, he gets a plastic cup of chocolate pudding, along with a large pack of orange juice, and another apple. In the end, it could be worse, so Mike takes his dull plastic fork and knife, and gets to work.

 

While it‘s underwhelming, at least it doesn‘t taste rotten or poisonous. There‘s not a hint of salt on the potatoes, and the broccoli deteriorates into a dark green paste at contact with his fork, so he ends up using the spoon for it, but the meat is only half-bad. Just as with breakfast, he doesn‘t leave a trace of food behind on his plate. The pudding tastes like heaven, and Mike doesn‘t care if it‘s actually good, or if he just thinks it is, because he has been on chocolate withdrawal for a few days. The apple is gone just as quick, and that leaves him with his orange juice, that he takes over to the bed to continue his imaginary journey with a wizard, a Hobbit, and thirteen dwarves.

 

The afternoon passes like that, with just a few interruptions, including a small dinner, consisting of a dry turkey sandwich. Otherwise, it‘s all _‚You still entertained, right? That‘s good. Gotta go, work‘s not gonna do itself, right? Right? Right?‘_ Yeah, right. Mike is entertained. It‘s already starting to get dark outside, making reading increasingly hard, when he slams the book closed. His strained eyes suddenly rest on the envelope he got from Doctor Barnes. It almost blends with the floor. Dammit, why couldn‘t he just have closed his eyes and fallen asleep? The clock reads 8 PM, so that wouldn‘t be too bad. But no, he has to remember what he‘d rather forget.

 

His hands are shaking when he picks the white envelope up, and settles back on the bed to read what‘ inside. The paper is folded in half, and even now, with night time and the darkness closing in, Mike gets it right away. It feels as though the image has ripped his intestines out of him.

 

He can see a face. Unmistakably _his own face_ , skillfully drawn by Will, a black-and-white cartoon-ish depiction of his features with his eyes crossed, mouth agape, and a thick, white turban of bandages around his head. Beneath the charming caricature, the words _‚GET WELL SOON‘_ pop up in giant pink letters. If this isn‘t too much for Mike, the inside of the card most definitely is. It‘s simple, but oh so heart-wrenching. _‚A party isn‘t complete without a Paladin. We miss you.‘_ And it‘s signed by every member of the party.

 

Too much. Just too much. The paper drops to the floor next to the bed without Mike paying attention to it. Everything is blurred, and he only realizes it‘s because he‘s crying when the cold air stings against the wet collar of his shirt. So is this what it‘s going to be from now on? Just guilt and tears? Why can‘t they just hate him? God, how much easier that would make everything. But no, Will actually took the time and made a card for him. Did drawing and writing hurt his friend‘s shoulder? It probably did. Suddenly, Mike isn‘t too grown up for hugging a teddy bear anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you got the important information. It's not like I put an emphasis on it, is it? :) I just love explaining this AU through storytelling.
> 
> I'm starved for comments, by the way.


	4. Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Jesus! I'm actually putting out the next chapter!
> 
> I'm so terribly sorry for the long wait. Every day I couldn't write kinda killed me. No pressure, but I love this fic to death. Mark my words: I'm never going to abandon this. I've got it all planned and laid out, but writer's block is just a bitch. Worst part was, I was all like 'Come on, get this chapter done', but another part of me was constantly nagging me like 'But think about what's gonna happen 5 or 6 chapters from now'.
> 
> Literally forcing myself to take it slow with the plot development.

How can it be morning again? Could Mike‘s body have forgotten the definition of sleep? Is it doing something wrong? One second, everything around him is black, blurred from tears, the next it‘s tinged in harsh gray light, sunlight filtered through the heavy clouds in front of his window.

 

Something soft is touching Mike‘s cheek. It‘s fuzzy, dark brown, and about the size of a football. Suddenly ashamed of himself and his childish need for this toy, he slams the teddy bear against the wall next to his bed, and it hits the ground without really making an audible noise. Lying on its side, its plastic eyes continue to stare at Mike in the most accusatory way. _‚I thought we were friends!‘_

 

„Fuck you.“ Mike mumbles, before turning around in his bed to face the other side of the room, taking a quick glance at the clock in the process. 6:20. He has just jumped more than ten hours just by closing his eyes. No dreams whatsoever. 40 minutes to go. 40 minutes until he is going to be faced with the _others_. It‘s not like he doesn‘t want the company. Really, he is desperate for it. But there‘s also this familiar churning in his stomach, a feeling too familiar, just amplified to heights he never thought were possible. It‘s like the first day of school, only that he is the new guy now. That‘s something that has never happened before. He never moved towns. He doesn‘t really know what it‘s like to be introduced into an already established group.

 

As always, this place is leaving him too much time to think. For example, he asks himself why he‘s even worried. First of all, Mike can‘t do anything about it. It‘s going to happen, no matter what. And in a way, he should be relieved. Just a day ago, he was contemplating suicide, and this is completely out of the question now. Maybe he‘s just stupid. A dumb kid who doesn‘t really know what he wants. Does he want to go back to Hawkins, play D&D with his friends and forget about all this? Does he want his friends to hate him for what he did? Does he want to be punished? _Does he want that fucking teddy bear to stop piercing the back of his head with its dead eyes?_

 

Mike snaps around again, jumps out of the bed in an inexplicable fit of rage, just to pick up the stuffed animal and roughly place it on top of the shelf where he doesn‘t have to see it when he‘s lying in bed. More importantly, where _it_ can‘t see _him_. Because, how is Mike supposed to make it through this if he is dependent on a teddy bear to get him through the night? What would be the next step in that case? A night light? A bodysuit, like the ones Holly used to wear until a year ago? Not going to happen.

 

Now, that Mike is up, he doesn‘t exactly want to go back to bed. He wouldn‘t get sleep anyways, and what good does thrashing around and contemplating do in his situation? He‘s still got the books, and even if it‘s just for 40 minutes, he needs distraction again. He picks up the worn out copy of The Hobbit again, sits on the side of his bed, and flips to the page he stopped on last night. It‘s just that, suddenly, the words printed on the paper don‘t make the slightest amount of sense anymore. Mike can read the sentences, but there‘s no way he‘s getting a grasp on what the words actually mean. Instead, it‘s just reading the same few words over and over again. Over and over, and the frustration is making him sick, up to the point of actual, physical stomach ache.

 

Something in the back of his head is telling Mike, he‘s got to pull himself out of this. It‘s pretty clear he won‘t be able to read this morning, so he decides to discard the books for now, in an effort to keep his frustration in reasonable boundaries. A few deep breaths later, he‘s on his feet, making his way to the toilet, not without giving the ‚Get-Well-Soon‘ card a kick to slide it under the bed. Doing his business in here, pretty much in full view from the door with just a wooden board covering him up to his shoulders, isn‘t what he would call pleasant or relaxed, and from now on, he‘s probably going to be in a hurry whenever he has to relieve himself.

 

 

* * *

 

It‘s the same as yesterday. Time drags on painfully slow, but on the other hand, when the lock finally clicks on his door, Mike wishes they could just leave him alone for another hour or so. He has no choice.

 

„Breakfast.“ an already too familiar, cold voice all but screeches. Mike considers himself lucky the horror nurse doesn‘t really acknowledge his presence. He would rather spend a month alone in this room than having a conversation with that woman. Anyways, now his door is opened, and he can already hear the first footsteps outside in the hall.

 

Just as he gets up from his only semi-comfortable position on the bed, Mike has to hold back laughter. During the last 24 hours, he had the time to think about a lot of things he rather wouldn‘t think about. Just this one thing, the reason why he couldn‘t join the other patients until now, never kept him busy. They wanted to check if he‘s sick. Physically sick. There was a serious possibility of him suffering from some sort of disease, but he didn‘t waste a thought on that.

 

Now, that itself is not exactly a problem. Mike never suspected anything was wrong with him physically, other than being too damn lanky, inept at anything that requires any form of coordination, and having the worst hair anyone‘s ever grown on his or her head. But theoretically, he _could_ have been worried. And just for that case, the nurse should have at least said something in the lines of _‚You‘re healthy. Join the others for breakfast.‘_ The fact that she didn‘t is just further proof, he doesn‘t want to have anything to do with Nurse Plummer.

 

And again, Mike is thinking too much. Finally having made the decision to step outside, he takes a deep breath, ready to face the stares and the questions. Only, he doesn‘t face anything. The hall is already almost empty, with a pair of feet just disappearing behind a corner. Great. Well, at least he knows where to go. Another thing Nurse Plummer seemingly can‘t be bothered with. Mike bets, she‘s got better things to do. Like, haunting toddlers in their dreams. Yeah, she‘s probably really busy with that.

 

Mike hesitantly follows the person he has seen, not knowing what‘s better, meeting the others in the hall, or wherever they‘re having breakfast. He walks slowly, painfully aware of the fact that the later he comes, the more likely they are going to stare, because it‘s similar in school. Be five minutes late, no one bats an eye. Be twenty minutes late, you‘re in deep shit and people are going to be talking, if only for a few minutes. But comparing this to school is pointless anyways.

 

Pulling open the heavy door to the next room, Mike feels, he should perhaps return to his room and hide under his covers. He doesn‘t, though, and once he steps inside, it‘s... well, it‘s not half bad. He really doesn‘t know what he expected, but certainly not _that_. The room is large, maybe half the size of his old middle school gym, but without the high ceiling. What‘s good to see is, it‘s not as blank and depressing as the rooms and corridors he has seen so far. While the walls themselves are still painted a very light shade of gray, but it‘s hardly visible due to the sheer amount of colorful decoration, consisting of paintings and collages, that look crude in a way. They‘re likely made by patients.

 

Mike can make out doors that seem to lead in every direction, on every wall except the one that obviously points to the front of the building, because on that side of the room it‘s really more windows than wall. The fact that there are no metal bars in front of them here is a welcome change.

 

So is the way this place is furnished. Really, it is an all-in-one place and Mike would place every bet on it, he is going to spend the majority of his time at this hospital right here. One corner is set up as something that resembles a living room. Two torn up couches and two armchairs resting on a worn out, circular carped, arranged around a simple coffee table with a small TV. He doesn‘t check up on it, but he guesses like everything that could pose a threat to the personnel, the TV is fastened to the table.

 

Mike spots another similar area without a TV, likely because two couches and armchairs might be enough for a large family, but not to hold 22 patients.

 

Speaking of which, they are there, of course. But it‘s as though nobody is looking at Mike. He can see a bunch of people in white clothes just as his lined up by one wall, neither of which seem to acknowledge his presence in the least. They‘re of all shapes and sizes, but for reasons even unknown to Mike he is actively avoiding their faces, as if they could somehow feel his stare and take offense. Two have already taken place by one of the two long tables that make up the center of this place, a third one is on his way there, tablet with breakfast in hands. It looks like two nurses, Plummer and one Mike hasn‘t seen before, are handing out food from behind a wire-shot window with a narrow slit in it.

 

There‘s too much chatter going on here for him to understand a word anyone is saying, but at least nobody has notice him yet. Mike figures, his best option at avoiding the stares for a little longer is to quietly get in line, not make any noise or hasty movements and hope for the best. He is going to be the last one to sit down, but that‘s something to worry about later, when it‘s his turn. The patient in front of him, a dark-skinned boy slightly smaller than Mike, has his gaze fixated at the back of the girl he is standing behind. Mike can‘t see his face, but the way his stiff shoulders flex, the way he takes a step every time the line moves up, gives the impression of a somewhat stoic personality. At least compared to the majority of people around here, who are talking, laughing, seemingly teasing each other.

 

One step after the other. A patient gets his meal, sits down, the line moves on. It‘s only when he is the fifth in line that Mike notices two things. First, the first stares hit him, cold like an ice cube pressed against his side. He keeps staring forward, but the corner of his eyes lets him notice some eyes on him. No comment so far, though, and he‘d be grateful if they could keep it that way.

 

The second thing he notices is that the nurses aren‘t only giving out meals. As far as Mike can see, everyone gets an impossibly small paper cup, and it‘s not hard to guess what‘s inside. He should have known. Mike is absolutely clueless as to why this is so unsettling, but it‘s just the realization _‚I‘m going to have to swallow pills!‘_ Everyone does so compliantly, but he doesn‘t want to know what they did if someone were to refuse.

 

Finally, it‘s Mike‘s turn. While it was probably only five minutes, it feels like he‘s been on his feet for an hour or more. That seems to be one of the quirks of this place, time dragging on slow like molten rubber. Wordlessly, Nurse Plummer shoves him a tablet through the slit. The fact that it‘s the exact same as the day before causes him only slight dismay. Whatever, it‘s a sandwich, it‘s cereal, and if the apple is good again, there‘s not reason to complain.

 

„Wheeler.“ the nurse Mike hasn‘t met runs a ball pen down a list on her clipboard. „Thorazine...“ She hands over a tiny cup with just one pill in it, along with a slightly larger cup that seemingly just contains water. No reason to be afraid. They know what they‘re doing, right? It‘s just that, Thorazine isn‘t a simple pain killer. While Mike surely never went to med school, he is well aware of that. This is unlike any medicine he has ever used in his life. But what good does refusing do? Playing it cool, he leans his head back with the first cup, allowing the pill to drop in his mouth. When he pours down the small sip of water, it‘s not only the pill, but also a giant lump of fear and uncertainty he has to swallow. The way he has to open his mouth and show the nurses he isn‘t hiding the pill under his tongue in vaguely humiliating.

 

It‘s of to the one of the tables then. Both of them and the benches to either side look awfully cramped. What makes it worse is, this time he can‘t avoid the faces, and God, they‘re _all_ staring. Literally every single one, even the ones with their backs turned on him twist their necks to get a glimpse of Mike. He can‘t move an inch from where he is standing. Where is he supposed to sit? There‘s no one here! No Mr Clarke or really any other adult to introduce him, to assign him a chair with everything that goes with it.

 

Then he jumps. It takes a fair bit of coordination not to drop his bowl of cereal, but it still spills on his sandwich a bit. A hand is resting on Mike‘s shoulder in a more than uncomfortable way, but is quickly retracted. „Jesus!“ a deviously amused voice rings in his ear, making his head snap around. It‘s a girl. Older than Mike, slightly taller. Her blond hair is tied into a utterly messy ponytail, the grin she‘s wearing is close to evil. „You here because you‘re jumpy, or what?“

 

„I... uh... I don‘t-“ Mike stutters, completely dumbfounded for the moment.

 

„I see.“ she huffs. „You‘re sitting with Pete, 22.“

 

„I‘m... Mike.“ he finally gets out, but the girl has her back turned on him by the table, using both her arms to shove a gap between two people sitting there.

 

„Whatever you say, 22. Right here. Sit down.“ It‘s more of an order, and Mike is inclined to refuse just to show he won‘t accept her bossy attitude, but what is the alternative? Waiting for a gap to open by itself? Swallowing his pride, he climbs over the hard wooden bank and roughly drops to his ass there, tablet in front of himself on the table. The girl is gone, but only for moment, because it takes her a while to reach her place opposite to him. To be honest, he is close to overwhelmed by the speed this is all happening at, especially after a day of idling with just _Middle Earth_ to keep him company.

 

She is grinning at him again. The boys to either side of him don‘t say a word, and in his uncomfortable, too observed situation, Mike just has to take a bit from his now milk-soaked sandwich. It‘s disgusting, but the hunger is there, and it won‘t go away all by itself. His gaze is fixated to the his bowl, but every time he steals a glance up he can see the girl grinning, chewing with her mouth open in a way that would make his mom lose it. Never heard of manners?

 

Every second the discomfort grows. But Mike is a defiant person. He has always been. When the stare is finally enough to ruin his appetite, he slams the remains of the sandwich down on his plate, from where it sputters peanut butter and jelly against his bowl and all over the plastic spoon and apple. „What?“ he snaps in her direction. Her grin just grows wider.

 

„I‘m Christie.“ she chuckles, mouth wide open, half-chewed sandwich on full display.

 

„Good for you.“

 

„Really?“ Christie furrows her brows. „What‘s so good about it?“

 

„You- I mean- crap...“ Mike mutters. „Why are you staring?“

 

„You‘re the new guy.“ she shrugs. „22... Mike... whatever you want me to call you.“

 

„Mike.“ he repeats. „I‘m not a damn number.“ Christie just shakes her head in amusement.

 

„You...“ she points at him „...my friend, are the luckiest maniac in the loony bin.“

 

Mike can feel his teeth gnashing involuntarily. „I‘m not a maniac either.“ he hisses, fists clenched on the table. Does she have _any_ idea what she‘s saying? Shouldn‘t there be something like a filter, a sort of adviser to tell her what‘s appropriate and what‘s not? „And why the hell would I be so lucky?“

 

„Because you‘re with the cool kids.“ she laughs. A trail of peanut butter is trickling down her chin, until she catches it with her tongue nonchalantly. Immediately, she begins shoving spoons full of cereal into her mouth, as if she just can‘t talk without her mouth full to the brim. Or as if she just doesn‘t want to talk without getting everyone around her to throw up. „Christie.“ she repeats, pointing at herself. „This is Pimple-Brain Pete...“ she points at the boy to Mike‘s left, whom he hasn‘t taken a look at yet.

 

„F-f-fuck you, C-Christie.“ he mutters. Mike can see where the _‚Pimple‘_ part comes from. That boy, around Mike‘s age, is acne-ridden in the most pitiful way. The pimples don‘t take mercy on an inch of his red face.

 

„Why... uh... why Pimple- _Brain_?“ he inquires carefully, but trying at a friendly tone. He makes a reasonably nice impression, smiling even through Christie‘s insult, offering Mike his hand. Surprised by the unexpectedly strong handshake, Mike can‘t shed the feeling this is all a joke he doesn‘t quite get yet.

 

„Because they‘ve infested his brain.“ Christie points at Pete‘s face. „I mean the pimples. Brain-acne or some shit, and now his head is all mushy and he‘s got a stutter.“ Mike doesn‘t have time to process the cruelty of her words, especially at a place like this, before she rambles on. „That guy over there is Lyrics Larry.“ The dark-skinned boy Mike has noticed before comes into view when Pete shifts out of his way a bit.

 

„Uh... hi.“ Mike mutters, giving the boy a little uncertain wave with his right hand. He doesn‘t answer. He doesn‘t even look at Mike. „Hi...?“ Mike repeats. Still nothing. „Is anything... I mean... wrong?“

 

Christie rolls her eyes. „Can‘t blame you.“ she sighs. „You gotta call him by name. Look.“ She then clears her throat, as if she thinks of herself as a great magician or illusionist. „Lawrence! What time is it?“ Mike is mildly startled by the boy‘s head snapping around, his eyes wide as dinner plates. And he is certainly not prepared for what‘s next.

 

„We don‘t need no thoughts control.“ the boy, Lawrence sings. And as though nothing happened, he turns his attention back to his half eaten sandwich.

 

„Amen, brother!“ Christie shouts. By now, she is munching away on her apple, and Mike realizes he hasn‘t even taken a bite since their little talk started. He opts for the apple too.

 

„S-s-so that‘s his l-line for the d-d-day.“ Pete explains. „H-h-h-h-“

 

„He sings these one-liners. Never heard him say anything else, and it‘s always a different song. Every single day. Must have a damn LP collection in that messed up head of his.“ Christie interrupts impatiently.

 

„H-how am I sup-sup-supposed t-to get over m-m-my-“

 

„Stuff it, Pete.“ Christie snorts rudely. „I‘m not done with the rookie. This precious girl right here...“ she wraps an arm around the shoulders of a small girl of maybe twelve or thirteen years „...that‘s Silent Sal.“

 

„Sally.“ Pete clarifies.

 

The girl, who might just be a year or two younger than Mike but looks infinitely smaller and absolutely lost, eyes him with an expression Mike can only describe as fearful. „Hi.“ he greets her quietly, in an attempt at a reassuring smile. Christie is staring at him so dead-serious, he believes it should actually be his turn to be frightened.

 

„You upset her, you‘re dead. Got it?“

 

„Got it.“ Mike swallows hard. She‘s not joking, but he has no intention of doing anything to upset the girl. Her nickname is pretty self-explanatory, not really insulting either, and it is absolutely clear that Christie cares a great deal about Sally. At Mike‘s words, she is back to grinning though, this time it doesn‘t look half as evil. She proceeds to whisper something into the smaller girl‘s ear, to which Sally reacts with a shy smile. Just like Pete, she then offers Mike her hand across the table. He shakes it, mirroring her smile.

 

„So...“ Christie claps her hands. „Mike met the cool kids, the cool kids met Mike, now-“

 

„Sorry...“ Mike cuts in. „But why the _cool kids_?“ Are they something like a party? Like _the_ party? That might be a fitting analogy. Anyways, it‘s good to see that friendships exist even in here.

 

„T-that‘s j-j-just what Christie c-calls us.“ Pete grunts. „G-g-given us all n-nicknames and s-stuff.“ Even without the explanation, it is already clear to Mike that Christie is something like the pack leader here, and if it‘s just for this small circle of friends. In a way, that‘s comforting, because it looks like Mike is already on his way of being accepted into that group.

 

„Okay... And out of all people, why me?“ he inquires in Christie‘s direction.

 

„Well I just wanted to tell you when you decided to be a brat.“ she scolds sarcastically. „First thing‘s first. On your knees.“

 

Mike spits out his cereal, half into the bowl, half over his shirt. What is that supposed to mean now? He should have known there is a catch. Some weird, completely fucked up initiation rite, probably entirely fitting for an insane asylum. „What?“ he blurts out. Next to him, Pete‘s expression has turned into an uncomfortable one. Lawrence obviously doesn‘t take notice, Sally is displaying greatest interest in what‘s about to come.

 

„You got me.“ Christie snarls, nose raised, voice ice cold. „On your knees and kiss my ass.“

 

It begins to dawn on Mike then, and the way his lips spread into a smile is different. Honest and grateful. „Those are your books?“

 

„Yep.“ And had Christie looked considerably nice after introducing Sally, she now seems like one of the greatest people Mike has ever met. „You like any of these?“

 

„Honestly? All of them. But I‘m not gonna kiss your ass.“

 

„Aww.“ Christie coos. „So shy? Well if you _insist_... we could do it in private. In the shower, maybe?“ A few seconds she says nothing, while Mike can literally feel his cheeks burning up. „Oh wow. You turning into a tomato?“

 

Mike decides to finish his apple first, taking his time on purpose to regain at least some superiority over the situation. Besides, it‘s hard to think of a quick-witted answer. Just as he is ready to say something, Christie speaks up again.

 

„Okay. Since today is Friday, and that means we‘re gonna get pancakes tomorrow, I‘m gonna be nice. Just borrow me a few books in return once you got them, okay?“

 

„Absolutely.“ Mike agrees. „I‘m gonna get my mother to carry truckloads of books in here, you‘ll see.“

 

Christie nods in agreement. „So... what are you in for?“ Mike can feel his face dropping, muscles turning into goo, making them unable to keep the smile up. How wonderful of a distraction this conversation was so far. But sure, he has to be reminded of it. It‘s not like he can avoid the topic forever, but more like he‘s going to face it every single day for God knows how long. He doesn‘t answer, and neither of the little group of friends push him. For a while, the chatter around them is the only noise Mike hears. Welcome, white noise. By now, nobody else seems to mind his presence, maybe because in a way they all understand he is with Christie now. There‘s just some authority to her.

 

While he doesn‘t want to think too much about his situation, there is just something he has to ask. „How long... I mean, what‘s the longest anyone‘s been in here?“

 

„Depends on why you‘re here. I mean, we obviously can‘t leave whenever we want. But, like, I‘ve never heard of anyone who‘s spent more than a year at this place.“ Christie doesn‘t seem to notice, but her words are like a punch to the stomach to Mike. A year.

 

He is well aware, he isn‘t exactly what a psychiatrist would call a regular patient. More like exceptional and overly serious. What does that mean for him? Surely, they‘ll want to keep him for that long, if not longer. Just because it‘s unheard of doesn‘t mean it can‘t happen, right? Although he never really dared to hope he‘d be home for Christmas, Mike at least would have thought he‘d spend his birthday with his family. But right now, it doesn‘t look like it.

 

Well, maybe it‘s a blessing in disguise. At least, Mike won‘t have to face his friends any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I just introduced a bunch of OC characters. You're gonna see a lot of them.
> 
> Also: I'm gonna make sure to include the songs Lawrence is singing lines from in the end notes, if you're interested. Today it's 'Another Brick in the Wall Pt.2' by Pink Floyd. As if anyone hadn't recognized it, right?


	5. The Start of Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picking up speed again? idk, I just felt inspired so I wrote this. Trying to get into the characters a bit. It's still day one for Mike, so I guess that means I'm setting a slow pace for the story here. I guess it's turning into a monster. Oh the plans I have for this!

Mike is sitting on a couch. Nice and comfortable, if a bit worn. That is all he really is aware of right now. Well, that, and his still slightly damp hair. A haircut would be in order. At home, he never cared about how it could take up to an hour before his hair dried after a shower, but this place is just a bit colder, and the way his black curls now stick to his temples and neck is unpleasant, to say the least.

 

He doesn‘t know how long he has been sitting here, time has lost all meaning for now. So have the voices around him, although he recognizes some of them now. There‘s Christie, of course, and then there‘s Pete‘s stutter. Mike can‘t pinpoint what they‘re talking about, only that they are somewhere nearby. He just wants to sleep. Sleep for hours and hours and days and weeks...

 

An all too sudden shove to the left shoulder startles him, he lets out a choked yelp.

 

„New guy! Mike!“ Christie groans, suddenly clear and intelligible to him. „You‘re not listening, are you?“

 

„Uh...“ Mike can only grunt. Does that mean she has been talking to him all the time?

 

„Jesus fuck!“ she laughs. „What‘d they give you this morning?“ Well, what did they give him? A pill. Just a single little circular, orange pill. He remembers how shiny it was for some reason. Like an M&M, really. But what was it called?

 

„It‘s... Thora- that stuff, y‘know...“ he manages to get out. „Just one.“ Mike can hardly recognize his own voice, slow and swollen as it is. It started in the shower, he thinks. He was all comfortable, hot water running down every inch of him. What little night sweat he had produced was long gone, when the dizziness set in. Getting dried was the first challenge after that. Getting dressed proved to be close to impossible, which is why Mike is now wearing his shirt inside out, a fact that‘s just sitting there somewhere in the back of his head, completely unchecked by his consciousness.

 

„Poor bastard. He‘s gonna be a zombie for days.“ a voice comes from Mike‘s left. A voice he doesn‘t recognize, but doesn‘t exactly care about either. However, Christie does.

 

„Mike, this is Sid Vicious. He‘s a major piece of shit. Couldn‘t make it for breakfast this morning. Appointment with his doctor and all that shit.“ She uses one hand to turn Mike‘s head around to his other side, where someone new is sitting. He is about Christie‘s age, tall but thin as a twig, a bit hunched over, hair shaved into a short Mohawk. Having regained at least some of his former self-control, Mike sluggishly raises his hand. As ‚Sid Vicious‘ shakes it, he loudly burps right into Mike‘s face. Another well deserved nickname, as it seems.

 

„Sydney.“ he introduces himself. „Don‘t listen to that bitch. I‘m a nice guy.“

 

„Love you too.“ Christie smirks.

 

„You guys... are like...together?“ Mike blurts out. By now he is glad someone is talking to him to pull him out of his not-quite-delirium. It‘s weird, he hasn‘t seen a single doctor as of now,

 

„What?“ she shrieks. „Pill‘s been messing with your brain, Mikey!“ Sydney only snorts at a earth-shattering volume. She is probably right. Mike would have never asked such a thing if he was in his right mind.

 

„Okay.“ he exclaims, suddenly with the urge to sound defensive. „Could you just stop this shit for once? I‘ve known you for two hours and I got no clue if I can believe anything you tell me.“

 

„Don‘t worry.“ Sydney chuckles, showing off his crooked teeth. „It‘s not gonna get better.“

 

„You know what?“ Christie‘s grin is as devilish as it was when she startled Mike this morning. „I think I‘m gonna call you Moody Mike.“

 

„Yeah...“ Mike sighs. „Or you could not call me that. How does that sound?“

 

„Too late, Moody Mike.“ Sydney chimes in. „Christie has spoken. You‘re gonna be stuck with this name for all eternity.“ Mike blankly stares at the black TV screen in front of him. He is surrounded. Surrounded by maniacs. Well, he might be a maniac himself, but not in the way these two people are. In a way, Christie and Sydney seem a perfect match, both vaguely disgusting, not necessarily bad people, but without a sense for what‘s appropriate. Truth is, Mike just isn‘t in the mood for joking around. Maybe if he was, he‘d not let their words get to him that much. A brave attempt to change the topic follows.

 

„So...“ he contemplates. „Are they gonna leave us alone in here all day?“ The large room seems to be where the patients spend most of their time. As far as Mike can see, everyone is here. The supposed cool kids have all gathered in the TV corner as if it was their territory, and Mike has taken place among them as if he was one of them.

 

„Nah.“ Christie shrugs. „You picked a good day to go crazy, actually. Lots of PE today. Just an hour break after breakfast.“

 

Mike remembers Barnes‘ comment from the day before. ‚Not sporty, huh? Well, you‘re going to be in no time.‘ He doesn‘t enjoy the prospect of that in the least.

 

„But they‘re gonna go easy on you if you‘re a pill-zombie.“ Sydney remarks. „Later we‘re gonna... uh... well... shit!“

 

„Idiot fucked up his long-term memory with weed and Acid.“ Christie‘s eyes flicker with amusement. „After PE the rest of the day will be school. You‘re in High School?“

 

„Yeah.“

 

„Around here it‘s more like assisted learning. They‘re not gonna let you fall too far behind. I guess you won‘t get to do a lot today, but they‘re already in contact with your school. You‘re gonna have to do everything on your own basically, but three days a week Mr Garcia will be here to help you with pretty much anything. He‘s a retired teacher.“

 

Through her words Mike finds relief from a problem he hasn‘t really thought about since he woke up in that examination room. He should have thought about it earlier, actually. If he‘s going to spend months in here, how is he supposed to keep up with school? The idea of not graduating a year later than his friends is one too terrible to even consider. Well, now he‘s got his answer. One he hasn‘t been looking for so far. The image of his friends passing on front of his inner eye though is enough to end his high for the moment. Wouldn‘t it be better if he had to repeat a year of High School? Just to put a healthy distance between him and them? Maybe that would be better for everyone involved.

 

„Hey!“ Fingers snap in front of Mike‘s face. „You been zoning out again?“

 

„Just thinking.“ he mumbles.

 

„Classic Moody Mike.“ Christie snickers.

 

„So what‘s you nickname then?“ Mike snaps.

 

„Hey.“ she says, dead serious. „I give nicknames. I‘m not on the receiving end, understood?“

 

„Whatever, hypocrite.“ he grunts. „How do you guys kill an hour here?“

 

„Well, I could put on some music.“ she suggests. Mike is still sluggishly inspecting his surroundings for any signs of a record player, when Christie shouts. „Hey, Lawrence!“

 

„We don‘t need no thoughts control.“

 

„You‘re awful.“ Sid huffs, and while he‘s probably being sarcastic, Mike thinks he is right. That just isn‘t something you do with a sick kid. And worse, Christie doesn‘t let it go.

 

„Lawrence!“

  
„We don‘t need no thoughts control.“

 

„Lawrence!“

 

„We don‘t need not thoughts control.“

 

„Law-“

 

„I think that‘s enough, Christina.“ a familiar, though now more scolding voice comes from behind the couch. Sybil doesn‘t look too angry, especially not when she catches Mike‘s gaze.

 

„If you‘d finally get us a cassette player I wouldn‘t have to do this.“ Christie crosses her arms in front of her chest.

 

„Please.“ Sybil rolls her eyes. „It‘s a financial matter, you know that. There are plenty of things you can do around here without jeopardizing Doctor Noble‘s therapy. Apologize to Lawrence.“

 

„I‘m sorry.“ Christie sighs without hesitation. Mike can‘t decide if she is being honest, but Sybil seems to be satisfied.

 

„And how are you this morning, Michael? I see you‘ve made some friends already.“

 

„I didn‘t leave him much choice.“ Christie preempts him. „He‘s got my books. Can‘t let my eyes off of him until I get them back.“

 

Sybil doesn‘t exactly react to that, instead eyeing Mike, showing off a mix of concern and understanding. „You‘ve taken your pill this morning?“ she asks.

 

„Yeah.“

 

„Your body will adapt. Give it a week and you won‘t feel the negative side effects anymore.“

 

„Okay.“ Mike can only agree and hope it‘s going to get better. Because they sure as hell won‘t allow him to lay off the meds, and he doesn‘t want to, even if he has to go through a week of being tired. Worse things exist. Sybil pops out a small notebook and ball pen from her pocket.

 

„So, fatigue, right?“

 

„Right.“ Mike confirms. „I kinda zone out sometimes.“

 

„That was to be expected.“ She smiles. „Your dose will be increased gradually. Anything else besides that?“

 

„Not so far.“

 

„Good.“ Sybil takes some more notes, probably medical gibberish that Mike wouldn‘t understand, especially not in his current condition. „If you notice anything out of the ordinary, tell a nurse or a doctor. Side effects are completely normal, but we like to keep record.“ Mike nods, wondering what exactly awaits him in terms of these side effects. „Good. You‘ve got about an hour until your PE lesson. Do you think you‘re up to that?“

 

„I‘m gonna try.“ he sighs. „Can‘t be that bad.“

 

„Won‘t be.“ Sybil assures him. „If you don‘t feel well, just tell Mrs Neal. Really goes for everything we‘re doing here. If you need a break, that‘s fine. Your room isn‘t locked during the day.“ She takes a look around. „Care to make a call home? You might want to tell your mother what you want her to bring tomorrow.“

 

„Uh... sure.“ Getting up from the couch is a bit of a struggle, until Sybil takes Mike‘s arm to pull him up. Well, physically he‘s really hit a low.

 

 

* * *

 

Mike expected something like he has seen in prison movies. A long line of wall-mounted phones, guards to either side. But once again, he is comfortingly reminded of the fact that he is a patient. It‘s not really a dedicated phone room, as much as it is a small office with a phone on a desk, two office chairs, but nothing more in it. It features the same carpet as Doctor Barnes‘ office, which seems to be fairly common around here.

 

„Sit down. I‘ll have to make the call to make sure I know who you‘re talking to. Don‘t worry, you can call anyone you want, I just have to know who it is.“ When she dials the number she is reading off her notebook, she slightly sticks out her tongue between her teeth, as if it required all her skill. But to be fair, Mike isn‘t a fan of rotary phones either. The noise they make send shivers down his spine, similar to someone scratching his fingernails on a blackboard.

 

„It‘s ringing.“ Sybil whispers, before squinting only slightly. „Good morning, Mrs Wheeler. This is Sybil Pears, Saint Bernard Hospital Chicago. I-“ She doesn‘ get to say another word, instead flinching away from the phone as though it was sinking razor-sharp teeth in her ear. The reason is immediately audible. Mike can‘t understand what the tinny voice of his mother is shouting, but it‘s loud even from a few feet away. Sybil hands the phone over, hissing „It‘s her! Say something!“ She herself seems to be at a loss of words right now.

 

„Mom!“ Mike says loudly, close to a shout. He still keeps the phone at a safe distance, because his mom is still rambling on on the other side. „Mom!“ Finally, this quiets her.

 

„Michael? Is that you?“ she sounds frantically afraid.

 

„Who else would be calling you ‚mom‘? Do I sound like Nancy or Holly?“ he rolls his eyes.

 

„Sweetie, I was so worried.“ Thank god she is talking at a moderate volume now. Otherwise, she‘d probably be too distorted to even get her words. „They haven‘t told me anything for a whole day, and I was really about to come up there and kick some-“

 

„Mom, stop it!“ Mike pleads. „I‘m okay.“

 

„You don‘t sound okay, Michael.“ she insists.

 

„As okay as I can get.“ he groans. „I‘m tired. It‘s just the pills.“ Apparently, that wasn‘t the right thing to say.

 

„Pills?“ she shrieks. „They‘re giving you pills and don‘t even tell me anything?“

 

„Technically just one pill. And I‘m fine, I swear. Can you please stop now?“ There‘s something to his voice that surprises even him. Something that doesn‘t allow for his mom to object. She stays silent. „Good. It‘s about tomorrow.“

 

„I‘ll be there.“

 

„I know.“ Mike can‘t help the affectionate smile. Sybil nods at him approvingly, perhaps for having managed to calm her enough to talk. „I just need some stuff from home.“

 

„Of course, honey. I‘ve already packed all your clothes, and-“

 

„Not that.“ he sighs. „You can unpack that. I can‘t wear my own stuff around here anyways.“ Mike can only imagine her deflate slightly at his words. It‘s evident in her voice.

 

„Of... of course, sweetie. What else did you need?“

 

„A toothbrush would be nice for once.“ Mike lets his tongue wander across his front teeth. He doesn‘t get why the hospital isn‘t issuing these. „And books. Something to distract myself a bit.“

 

„But... they‘re not leaving you alone all day?“ So far, this is the most upset she has sounded. Not loud, foaming at the mouth with rage, but utterly helpless.

 

„I‘m gonna be around people all the time from now on. It‘d still be nice to have something to read. And my textbooks from school. They‘re important! And something to write. Could you also get me the large blue folder from the top drawer of my desk?“

 

„I will. A few pens too?“

 

„I‘m... uh... getting crayons. But that‘s really it. Toothbrush and entertainment.“ Mike smiles weakly, because this sounds a bit ridiculous. „I‘m gonna have to hang up.“ he adds, when he sees Sybil tapping her watch with a finger.

 

„You‘re getting enough to eat, right? You‘re not cold at night?“ His mother‘s breathing picks up speed in a way that makes it highly uncomfortable to hear.

 

„Mom, I‘m okay. We‘ll have the whole afternoon tomorrow. See you then.“

 

„O- okay.“ she all but squeaks. „I love you, sweetie.“

 

„Yeah, love you too.“ Mike takes a wary look at Sybil, but doesn‘t look like she‘s paying attention. „Bye.“ Mike doesn‘t miss how he is the first one to hang up, his mom staying in the line until the bitter end. He doesn‘t want to, but just can‘t stop himself from imagining her crying by the phone.

 

„Hey... uh Sybil?“ Mike likely looks even more apologetic than he intends to.

 

„Don‘t.“ she shrugs it off. „She was just worried. Startled me, is all. I bet she‘s a great mom. So, in your room you‘re gonna find a bag with something to change into for PE.“

 

„Can I ask you something?“ Mike speaks up when Sybil is already half stood up.

 

„Well, yeah.“ She sits back down, smiling apologetically. „But I can‘t promise I know the answer.“

 

Mike has to laugh for real. It‘s incredible how light-hearted he feels for once. „Don‘t worry, it‘s not like I‘m asking the ultimate question of life here.“

 

„42.“ Sybil mumbles, causing a little backflip in Mike‘s mind. „Go on, I‘m listening.“

 

„Christie told me something about school. You know, how it works around here and all.“ He is a bit ashamed of what‘s next, but really, he doesn‘t know that weird, impudent girl at all. „She wasn‘t kidding, was she? I don‘t wanna miss out on that.“

 

„It‘s gonna be hard.“ she responds. „Your school will send us all the necessary documents, but you‘ll basically work through it on your own. Mr Garcia can help you with that when he‘s here, but it‘s not like sitting in class, you know. Do you think you can manage?“

 

„I‘ll have to try.“ Mike is fidgeting his fingers in his lap. „Do I have to... like... sign anything? My mother is gonna bring my textbooks but-“

 

„We‘re on it already. Everything you need will be here by next week.“

 

 

* * *

 

The gym is a scary place. Well, gyms have always been a scary place. Places without mercy. Places where balls hit Mike‘s face, give him black eyes or a nosebleed. Places where the popular kids elect teams and then argue about who is going to get the losers, an utterly humiliating experience. Places where formerly fit guys with red caps and shrill whistles shout at him to move faster.

 

This gym is scary for entirely different reasons, and actually, it‘s a cool kind of scary. Horror movie scary. That‘s because it‘s in the basement of the hospital, and likely wasn‘t designed to be used as a gym. Because, while it‘s reasonably large, the ceiling isn‘t high enough to allow for basket ball or really anything that involves jumping higher than nine feet.

 

No windows down here, just flickering neon lights, fluorescent tubes and heating pipes on the ceiling riddled with cobweb. The air is chilling, thankfully not damp or moldy smelling though, but really reminiscent of Mike‘s basement at home.

 

He, as everyone else, is now wearing comfortable sweatpants. Not his first choice for sports, especially not because too large, forcing him to tie a tight knot into the waistband. The dark blue shirt is wearing on the other hand is tighter than the white ones issued for every day use. He notices that several patients, including Christie, have opted to only switch pants, keeping their long-sleeved white shirts on.

 

Mike is a bit unsteady on his feet, and the hospital slippers aren‘t exactly making it better. He figures they won‘t fall off, but he‘s going to have to be careful not to trip over his own feet. Sneakers are too much to ask for, as it seems. Or a risk. Besides Doctor Barnes Mike hasn‘t seen anyone wearing shoelaces at this hospital.

 

„And we‘re running backwards!“ Mrs Neal‘s voice echoes off the plain walls of the mostly empty gym. And this is a challenge. So far they have all been running in circles, forwards. Now, turning around and trying the same thing backwards, they don‘t only have to watch out for their own feet but also for everyone else around them. Mike seriously lacks the coordination to pull this off fast enough. He only manages to complete one lap while Christie passes him three times, before eventually slowing down to his speed.

 

„Ridiculous, isn‘t it?“

 

Mike wants to agree, but another boy, bulky with a short buzz cut, passes them that very moment. „Has anyone asked for your opinion, Christie?“

 

„Shut up, Victor.“ She flips him off, turning back to Mike. „He‘s a bastard.“

 

„Good to know...“ Mike mutters, with only limited interest in the topic. „But yeah, it‘s ridiculous. And hard.“ A familiar sting spreads in his side. „I shouldn‘t talk while running.“

 

„Forwards again!“ Mrs Neal shouts.

 

„You‘re gonna have to go through this three times a week, you know.“ Christie turns back around, just as Mike does. „And if you like it or not, it‘ll get you on track.“ She stays close to him, although she could probably run faster. Running like this, Mike‘s hair falls into his eyes in the most annoying way. He can barely see Sally darting past them for what is probably the 50th time.

 

„She‘s pretty fast.“ he notes.

 

„Yeah.“

 

„Hey... Christie?“ Slowly, he‘s finding a pace at which talking doesn‘t hurt too much.

 

„Huh?“

 

„What‘s it with you two? I mean, if that‘s not too... personal.“ He‘s only known her for maybe three hours, but it‘s pretty clear that she and Sally are close. Always in close proximity. „You‘re not, like, sisters or anything, right?“

 

„Nah, not a lot to it.“ Christie shrugs. „I saw her sitting all on her own on my first day, asked if she wanted company... and now she‘s following me around like a puppy. I think I‘m the only one she talks to. Or whispers. That‘s all she does. I don‘t think I wanna know what happened that made her like this.“

 

„You care about her.“ he notes maybe too bluntly.

 

„Yeah. And I already told you-“

 

„I‘m not gonna upset her. She just reminds me of someone I‘ve known.“

 

 

* * *

 

Today‘s sandwich isn‘t any better than yesterday‘s. Bone-dry, but edible. Mike groans. His limbs have been hurting all day since PE. He is likely gonna feel it for most of tomorrow, if not all weekend. One would think someone who bikes around his home town almost every day would at least be resistant to sore muscles, but no, everything hurts right now.

 

The day was somewhat boring, Mike has to admit. It‘s not really anyone‘s fault that he doesn‘t have his textbooks or assignments from school yet, but the fact that there was literally nothing to do for him all afternoon was annoying, to say the least. While everyone else was sitting around the two long tables they use for pretty much everything, he instead retreated to his room for a few hours, to spend some more time with Bilbo Baggins. It wasn‘t as bad as the day before, at least he knew he could go wherever he wanted in this confined hospital space. Also, it wasn‘t as though he particularly missed Christie.

 

While reading, Mike‘s mind occasionally wandered off to her, trying to figure out whether he should like her or not. She saved him from seriously going insane through her books. She introduced him into a social circle. On the other hand, she seems like somewhat of a bully so far. Either way, Mike never questioned he‘d get along with Pete. Sally and Lawrence, well he can‘t really say he has interacted with them in any way so far. They‘re not what he would call responsive. He is still glad he got someone to talk to around here. Today is the start of something for him. Something long, that he just wouldn't be able to go through all on his own.

 

The dizziness let go of Mike‘s mind some time around 11 AM. He only reappeared once for lunch, then later for dinner, because he realized with everyone concentrating on their school work, it wasn‘t appropriate to stick around and distract people.

 

Still wondering when this whole therapy thing is supposed to set off, he swallows a large piece of his turkey sandwich.

 

„Y-y-you stil haven‘t t-told us w-what you‘re here f-for.“ Pete suddenly stutters, after an elongated silence only filled with the noises kids like Christie and ‚Sid Vicious‘ make while eating.

 

„I know.“ Mike answers too harshly. It‘s not something he‘s going to talk about to them. Mike is ashamed of himself, but he just can‘t give up what little interaction he has with people. They‘d shun him if they knew, rightfully so, but it would be unbearable. Especially considering how much time he is going to spend at this place.

 

„Wow!“ Christie exclaims through a toothy smirk. „Moody Mike strikes again!“

 

„N-n-not g-gonna push you.“ the acne-ridden boy shrugs. „F-for me it‘s de-de-depression. Like for m-most of us.“ Some people around them nod, giving him approving comments. Mike doesn‘t know most of their names yet.

 

„Anger issues. Beat a kid up so bad they wanted to send me to juvie. Psych evaluation got me here.“ Sydney adds, and oh wonder, Mike believes him. He isn‘t one to judge a book by its cover, but Sydney, ‚Sid Vicious‘ as Christie calls him so fittingly, makes the impression of nothing more than an angry punk. His demeanor, his appearance, all of that would fit into 1970s London from what Mike has seen or heard about that place at that time. His taste in music might even overlap with Mike‘s and especially Will‘s, that doesn‘t mean Mike has to like this guy.

 

Expecting Sally and Lawrence to speak up is absolutely pointless, besides Mike already has an idea as to why these two are here, so Christie is next. Without a word she rolls up her sleeves. Mike wants to vomit. How is she still alive?

 

„That‘s...“ He drops his sandwich to his plate. No, he won‘t take another bite of it. „Jeez. That why you didn‘t change shirts for PE?“

 

„Some people just don‘t want to see this shit.“ she says quietly. „Can‘t really blame them, can I? That fucking bathroom looked like a slaughterhouse.“

 

Images flash through Mike‘s mind. Nothing he has seen for real, just imagination. White tiles, smeared dark red with pools of blood flowing from Christie‘s wrists. Without ever having studied human anatomy in detail, Mike understands that vertical cuts are meant to kill. He thanks whatever mysterious power might be out there watching mankind that she pulls her sleeves back down. Still, the image of the dark, slightly swollen scars, that almost reach up to the crook of her arm, has permanently engraved itself into his memory. He just knows he‘s going to think about it once he‘s in bed.

 

And while this surely is pitiable, he keeps his mouth shut. Mike never asked the others to reveal their problems, so he can keep his own to himself without the burden of feeling like a hypocrite.


	6. They miss You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's hear it for some angst, right?

On Saturday, Mike wakes up with the same feeling he fell asleep with the night before. Something that has settled somewhere deep inside of him, causing him goosebumps and anguish.

 

‚ _This is my life now.‘_

 

He can‘t claim to have seen a lot of hospital life so far, but that‘s not what it is about. It‘s wearing these all white clothes. It‘s running around in floppy slippers. It‘s not leaving this building, being crammed into a room with 21 other patients for most of the day, and being locked up for 10 hours. It‘s not knowing when this will end. It‘s being far away from everyone who cares about him.

 

He managed to finish The Hobbit the night before, aided by the very last rays of sunlight. It‘s October, and the days are getting shorter. Mike supposes he won‘t be able to read in the evenings much longer, since there is no electric light in his room from what he can see.

 

The lock clicks, the door flies open, and footsteps appear outside in the hall. This morning, Mike doesn‘t hesitate. He knows who and what is waiting for him, and there really is no reason to wait. Nothing to fear, except maybe...

 

Today, Mike isn‘t the last in line for breakfast and pills. In fact, he even got there before Christie and Sydney, who are having fun poking each other‘s faces behind him, for some reason. What did she say only 24 hours ago? Pancakes on Saturday? It looks like it, and they don‘t even seem half-bad. Mike swallows his pill, getting it over with as quick as he can, and then sits down on the table in the same spot he occupied the day before. It doesn‘t take long and he is surrounded by now familiar faces.

 

„Alright.“ Christie grins down on her plate. „Best day of the week.“ The bite she takes is impossibly huge, meaning the piece of pancake sticks out of her mouth while she is chewing on it. Sydney doesn‘t start eating at once, instead picking his nose slow and thoroughly, and Mike doesn‘t want to know where exactly under the table he wipes off the results. His table manners are equal to that of Christie.

 

Mike has no idea if he is the only one who minds their wide open mouths, but it doesn‘t matter anyways. The pancakes don‘t look bad, and they don‘t taste bad. In fact, the sweet syrup is more than welcome after two days of more or less dull, dry hospital food.

 

„So, you got anyone visiting today, Mike?“

 

He peeks up from his plate to see Christie inspecting him with great interest. „Yeah, my mom. Told you she‘s gonna bring truckloads of books, didn‘t I?“

 

„Right, right. Are you through with mine already?“

 

„I‘m a fast reader, but not _that_ fast.“ he chuckles. „Finished The Hobbit yesterday, but I already knew that. I guess once I‘ve got my own stuff I won‘t need the rest of them. You‘ll have them back today.“

 

„Really? I thought you might wanna read the others.“ Christie leans back slightly, but since there is not backrest it looks forced.

 

„Hm.“ Mike contemplates. „I got enough Astronomy stuff myself, and I‘ve read Something Wicked This Way Comes three or four times. But maybe Robinson Crusoe, if that‘s okay with you.“

 

„Hey, as long as you don‘t flush it down your crapper, help yourself.“

 

He can‘t help but notice, Christie behaves somewhat differently from the day before. As if she has lost her edge in a way. She wasn‘t being entirely honest when she called Saturday the _‚Best day of the week‘_. Besides that, her grin doesn‘t quite reach her eyes. But maybe Mike is imagining things.

 

„I‘m not gonna flush anything down my crapper that doesn‘t belong there.“ he mumbles, trying to keep his mouth closed to show her how people are supposed to eat without causing churning stomachs all around them.

 

„Hey.“ Christie hisses.

 

„What?“

  
„Do you know where that comes from?“

 

„Where _what_ comes from.“

 

„Crap.“ she clarifies. „Do you know where crap comes from?“

 

 _Oh God, no!_ Mike wants to be somewhere else. He wants to be around someone else. It‘s so weird, because he sure believes this is something that would sound funny if said by Dustin. But he just doesn‘t know this girl, and he is trying to eat.

 

„F-f-from your ass, C-Christie. B-big deal, r-right?“ Pete stutters.

 

„Ew!“ Christie cries. „I mean the word _‚crap‘_!“

 

„Enlighten us...“ Mike feels his eyes roll hard enough to almost fall out of his head. Does he really want to hear this?

 

„Thomas Crapper was, like, the first guy to sell toilets in London or something. So they called them _‚crapper‘_ , and what goes in the crapper?“ Her eyes widen with anticipation. She wants someone to say it, that much is clear.

 

„Your books, if you don‘t stop talking.“ Mike slams his fist down on the table, not hard, but loud enough to make a certain someone flinch. And like that, Christie‘s demeanor shifts. Both her arms are tight around Sally‘s trembling shoulders before Mike even knows what‘s going on. Like yesterday, she whispers something into the little girl‘s ear, before turning on Mike.

 

Through her grinding teeth, she growls „Apologize. Or I‘ll make you.“

 

It‘s not the threat that brings Mike to say „Didn‘t mean to scare you. I‘m sorry, Sally.“ It‘s him being sorry. He never thought she was _that_ sensitive, and startling her was the last thing he wanted to do. Christie doesn‘t let go of the smaller girl, and Sally doesn‘t let go of Christie, but at least the accusatory stare is gone. Sally leans over to whisper into Christie‘s ear.

 

„She says it‘s okay.“ Christie huffs, and the sight of her is other-worldly. The way she interacts with Sally, all gentle and like a caring older sister just stands in stark contrast to how she treats everyone else around her. It only lasts for a few seconds. Her sly smile is back, and though it‘s still not as strong as yesterday, Mike is already suspecting something.

 

„Hey, Lawrence!“ she shouts, much to his dismay. Can‘t she just leave the poor kid alone?

 

„It‘s gonna take a lot to take me away from you.“ Lawrence answers in perfect tune, making her shudder with mock disgust.

 

„Holy shit, it‘s never been that bad!“ she chokes out. „Guys, no one say his name for the rest of the day! I hate that song.“

 

 

* * *

 

Today it‘s worse. Definitely worse than yesterday. Maybe it‘s because he took his pill when there was still Thorazine left in his bloodstream. Whatever it is, the effect feels increased tenfold. Mike‘s eyes are falling shut every other second, as it seems, and his mouth is hanging agape. In the rare moments when he possesses the clarity to make himself aware of his situation, he thinks it must look pretty ridiculous. He is wrapped in layers and layers of cotton and Styrofoam, far away from the outside world.

 

The TV is running now, that‘s one of the few things he knows for sure. Some time after breakfast, and after their obligatory daily shower, Sybil put on some VHS tape of a Disney movie. At that point he was already too far gone to recognize which movie exactly, having almost passed out in the shower. How embarrassing would that have been? Whenever Mike can open is eyes far enough to see the screen it‘s all just dancing colors, and all he can hear through his honey-clogged ears are faint melodies and harmonics.

 

That‘s not entirely true. There are also people talking in hushed voices, talking about _him_ , from what he can hear. Every once in a while, Mike‘s mind clears up just enough to understand Christie and Sid are discussing his condition.

 

Mike‘s eyes snap open at a weird, undefinable sensation on his left cheek. They fall shut again, only to open wide at a repeat of that sensation. He lets his head fall to the side, rather than turning it, to see a blurry image of Sally there. Nonchalantly, the silent girl keeps on poking his face.

 

„What...“ It‘s more of a long exhale than an intelligible word, but Christie seems to get the message.

 

„She‘s just curious. Does it hurt?“

 

„Huh... nah... doesn‘t... doesn‘t hurt.“ Mike somehow hiccups in between words. Sally beams at him, and involuntarily his lips twitch into a smile. „Faces... are cool, right?“ Did he really just say that? _Why?_

 

„Good. You can keep poking, Sal.“ Christie says so quietly, she probably thinks Mike can‘t hear her. It doesn‘t bother him. Sally can poke him all day long if she wants to. She can also... lean against him? At least, that‘s what it feels like. Well, fine, Mike can handle that. It‘s not like he‘s got much of a choice, considering he‘d probably need assistance to get up to his feet.

 

He‘s comfortable. Whenever his mind shuts off, that‘s all that remains. The couch is nice, _so nice_ , the music is soothing, so are the flickering colors. Mike doesn‘t have to think, doesn‘t have to care. Not about Will and Lucas, about spending months on end in a hospital far away from home. It‘s just such a bliss when nothing matters for a while.

 

It‘s reminiscent of simple times. Mike finds himself in the family car on the way home from his grandparents‘ house in Cincinnati. The slight bumps in the highway rocking him asleep through the soft suspension of their station wagon, he can shut his eyes, knowing that he is going to wake up in his own bed.

 

 

* * *

 

It‘s just that he doesn‘t wake up in his bed at home. Mike only really finds himself back in the real world after lunch, which according to Christie, he has all but devoured. He just can not remember what exactly he has had for lunch. Christie says it was Pizza, because it‘s Saturday, but really she could tell him he has eaten deep fried dog tails and he‘d have no choice than to believe it. When Pete confirms her claims, though, Mike can at least imagine to remember his pepperoni pizza.

 

And like that, Lunch passed in the blink of an eye, or in Mike‘s case with both eyes closed for the better part of it. Now it‘s only 10 minutes from 1PM. Mike sits in his room facing the window, hunched over, elbows propped up on his knees. He can keep his thoughts focused, he knows his mother is going to be here soon. He actually suspects she is already here, just waiting for someone to let her in. As it seems, the hospital is rather strict when it comes to visiting hours. The way Mike knows his mom, she‘s going to insist on the full 3 hours, unwilling to waste a second of it.

 

The clouds are gray again, perfectly fitting for October, and through his barred window, Mike can‘t make out if it‘s really one consistent blanket of clouds, or if it‘s just his blurry vision that makes it seem like it. His door is wide open behind him, but Sybil still knocks on the door frame.

 

„Michael?“

 

„Huh?“ Mike slowly turns his head to face her and her compassionate expression. She probably knows full well how he is feeling right now.

 

„Your mom is here. I‘ll bring her in, okay?“

 

„Huh.“ He feels capable of saying more than that, but knows it‘s going to be exhausting, so he nods to spare his strength, and prepares himself for a bit of acting. Sybil understands, and hurries away without another word. It takes another minute, or maybe another 24 hours, Mike isn‘t sure, before his mom steps into the room. Closing the door behind her, she drops a giant duffel bag in the empty corner. It makes a mix between a thump and loud rumbling. From now on, he‘s going to have to hold it together for a few hours.

 

„Michael...“ It‘s almost unreal how carefully and hesitantly she approaches him. Well, maybe it‘s because he is still facing the window, looking at her over his shoulder.

 

„Mom.“ Mike tries to smile, but that and standing up at the same time is too much, so he instead grits his teeth, pulling himself to his wobbly legs. He trips. His mom is there to catch him.

 

„It‘s good. It‘s okay.“ she hushes. „Sit down, sweetie.“

 

„Yeah.“ he breathes, dropping back onto the side of his bed, his mom next to him. He can‘t think of anything to say, she seemingly wants to say too many things at once. His mom stalls audibly with her breath catching in her throat, and eventually just puts both arms around him.

 

„I‘ve missed you.“ she chokes up after a while. It‘s been only three days, but Mike understands. Sure, he‘s stayed at Will‘s house for days at a time before, but he never was a three hour drive away from home. And so far, he always had a choice. Not this time.

 

„Missed you too.“ he sighs into her shoulder. „Sorry I‘m so... I don‘t know.“

 

„They warned me.“ His mom pulls back a bit to see his eyes. „But it‘s gonna get better.“

 

„I know. The first few days are the worst. How was the... what‘s it called... drive?“

 

She leans her head from one side to the other. „Uneventful. Doesn‘t matter. How have you been? Have they been treating you well?“

 

„Could be worse.“ Mike mumbles, mouth half-closed. He turns to look at the sky again, which he now can see a bit more clearly. It really is one giant wall of light gray clouds that‘s hanging over the empty field in front of his window. His mom follows his gaze.

 

„Bars.“ she notes bitterly. „And it‘s cold in here.“ Her hand wanders over the thin blanket, before clutching into it. She then proceeds to tug on his shirt a little. „Is this supposed to be better than that gown? How can they let you sleep in here?“

 

„I‘ve slept well so far.“ Mike assures. The last thing he wants right now is his mom making a scene with the nurses and doctors. „It‘s not that cold.“

 

„But it‘s empty! My voice _echoes_ in here.“

 

„Not gonna be as empty once we‘ve unpacked that.“ Mike points at the blue and black bag by the door.

 

„Right. But can we wait for a moment?“ Her voice is just too pleading to say no, and really, they‘ve got hours. Mike won‘t read anything with her here anyways. She pulls him back into her embrace, and so at least ten minutes are decided on.

 

Mike is the first to pull back this time, and at seeing her red eyes he feels a burning sensation around his own eyes. „Mom, if you cry I‘m gonna cry too.“

 

„Sorry. Sorry, I‘m not... I‘m not crying.“ she sniffs. „I couldn‘t do that to you.“ A wet laugh accompanies her words. „I just wish I could take you home with me. We all miss you, you know.“

 

„Already?“ he chuckles. „I thought it‘d be at least two weeks until anyone noticed I‘m gone.“ This lightens up the mood between them a bit, as well as Mike‘s own condition. It‘s like he‘s slowly pulling himself out of his trance. His mom laughs.

 

„Holly has been asking for you at least three times a day.“ she remarks. „Nancy too. You should call her if you can.“ The mention of his sisters causes Mike a small pang. He feels himself reminded of the fact that he even forgot where Nancy lives now. He doesn‘t mention it, though. „And you know, William has practically been camping on our doorstep waiting for news.“ That‘s something Mike can‘t just ignore. His body gives in a little, falling against his mom.

 

„How is he?“ he croaks. „Don‘t lie.“

 

„He misses you. I think he misses you more than-“

 

„Not what I meant.“ Mike cuts in. Will shouldn‘t miss him. He should be glad they put Mike away. His mom breathes in and out shakily.

 

„He‘s got his arm in a leash. Just so it won‘t rip open again. They say it‘s gonna be two weeks, that‘s all.“ She says it as though it‘s a small thing. Through the distraction Mike found in the other patients and the books, he managed to keep his thoughts off of the topic, but now it‘s crashing down on him again, like a wave of burning oil.

 

„Lucas?“

 

„He‘s gonna have a limp for a few days. It‘s already getting better.“ Again, she seems to play it down. Can‘t she understand how close Mike got to killing both of them? „I told you they‘re not angry.“ she says softly. „Give them a call. They‘re so worried about you.“

 

Well, they‘re idiots then. Mike doesn‘t say that of course, retorting to nothing more than a small nod. No, he‘s not going to call them. Not in a million years. It‘s better they hate him, stay out of his way for the rest of their lives. They‘re going to live longer that way.

 

„I‘ve spoken to Chief Powell.“ his mom continues. „He has assured me, no one knows.“

 

„Knows what?“

 

„What happened. I thought maybe you‘d feel better if I told you. The Chief has kept the affair a secret. And the people involved won‘t tell anyone.“

 

Mike couldn‘t care less. In a way, he actually hoped the newspapers would make a headline out of it. Isn‘t this irresponsible? The public has to be warned of a potential murderer. Well, at least his father won‘t have to suffer the stigma of having a maniac for a son. As to not upset his mother, he shrugs, letting out a small grunt of what is supposed to sound like approval. „Want something to drink? We‘d have to share the cup.“ Stronger than before, he walks over to the aluminum sink without tripping over himself, to pour himself a cup of water.

 

„I‘ve had coffee. But that reminds me...“ His mom takes the few steps to the duffel bag, which she heaves onto the bed for easier access. The first thing the pulls from it is a toothbrush, as well as a tube of toothpaste. An unbelievably welcome sight. Mike‘s teeth feel disgusting. He places both on the sink. „You want to unpack?“

 

Mike does. He doesn‘t pay attention to which books she actually brought, but it seems to be a nice collection, large enough to fill up both shelves in the room, the one over his bed as well as the one above the desk. „Say...“ his mom points at the teddy bear. „...you‘ve got a friend?“

 

„No. They put one of these in every room. Standard equipment.“ He sure won‘t tell her he actually hugged the bear for comfort just two nights ago. Just as sure as he‘s never going to do that again.

 

Once the two of them are done unpacking and arranging, the room already has a few new qualities to it. Just a bit more homely, a bit warmer, a bit more colorful. It‘s not quite as plain and depressing anymore, and maybe, just maybe, Mike can get used to it. Really, he doesn‘t have a choice.

 

„Hey, mom?“ Mike inspects all the neatly lined up books. „Did you bring my folder? The blue one?“

 

She gives him an apologetic smile. „I did. But they wouldn‘t let me give it to you. Because it‘s a ring binder with sharp metal parts. But they said if you want they can put the contents into something less dangerous.“

 

„That‘s okay, I guess.“ Mike sighs. He really hoped he could just write a bit tonight. Not for D&D, he‘s probably not going to play that game again, more for himself. Just to add to his collection of short stories.

 

„One more thing.“ His mom takes a while rummaging through the empty bag, until she presents Mike with two rectangular, wooden objects. Framed photos. „They made me remove the glass from the frames.“

 

One of them is a photo of the whole family. Mike can‘t remember posing for it, but it can‘t be older than a few months. Nancy is in her graduation gown, he is wearing a suit, complete with vest and tie. He curses himself for not remembering her graduation, or really anything specific from the last few years. The second photo immediately sends uncomfortable chills down his arms and spines. He doesn‘t stop his mom from placing it on the desk, but can‘t bring himself to look at it for longer than a few seconds.

 

It shows him with his friends. That‘s enough to make it something he doesn‘t want in his room. The card he got from them is still lying under the bed, and Mike plans on banning that photo there too. But not right now, his mom doesn‘t need to know everything. It would worry her more than necessary.

 

 

* * *

 

Due to his still hazy and inaccurate perception of time, Mike can‘t decide if it was a long, or a short visit. The clock is showing 3:55, and it‘s time for his mom to leave. She really makes the last minutes count, though, hugging him so tightly he thinks his ribs must be cracking.

 

„I‘ll see you next week.“ she whispers. „If we can find a babysitter for Holly, dad could come along too.“ Mike doesn‘t tell her how that won‘t be necessary, how he really doesn‘t feel the need to see his father. He supposes that would be unfair. His dad‘s got a right to be here just as much as his mom. „And you should really call Nancy and your friends.“ This time, Mike gives a small nod. Yes, he‘s going to call Nancy.

 

„Tell Holly I miss her too, okay?“ Mike‘s relationship with his younger sister is strained, but that‘s no wonder. A teenager will always perceive a three year old child as something annoying that is only there to make his life a living hell by nagging, yelling and breaking stuff. That doesn‘t mean he doesn‘t love his sister.

 

„Mrs Wheeler, right?“ This time, it‘s not Sybil. Mike has already wondered when he‘s going to see Nurse Lime again. „It‘s 4, right?“

 

„Right.“ Mike‘s mom answers, maybe a bit bewildered. She turns back to Mike just once, tears shimmering in her eyes again. „I love you, sweetie.“ He has never heard her voice that thick. „If you need anything, call me and I‘ll be here.“

 

„Love you too, mom.“ They hug one last time for today, before she follows Nurse Lime out into the hall, taking the now empty duffel bag with her. Mike can hear echoes of faint sniffling, and a few hushed voices. Maybe other visitors.

 

Since it‘s mid-October, the sky is just beginning to darken. Why didn‘t he ask for a flashlight?

 

 

* * *

 

By dinner time, Mike has brushed his teeth three times to make up for three days of not being able to. His mind is clear now, it‘s actually got its edge back, and to be honest, he is feeling great. Well, not great as in _‚great to be here‘_ , more like _‚great that I‘m not suffering anymore‘_. And physically, that‘s true. However, he did flip the photo of him and his friends as soon as his mom was out the door, and he absolutely refuses to look at it.

 

The first bite of today‘s sandwich is dry, but ultimately edible. Something is different, though. Not about the sandwich.

 

„Hey...“ he turns to Pete. „Where‘s Christie?“ The boy holds a finger up, signaling Mike he‘s got to chew and swallow first. Sydney could probably answer in his place, but he is too busy making Lawrence sing.

 

„It‘s gonna take a lot to take me away from you.“ He sings the line over and over again.

 

„Sh-She‘s never w-w-with us for lunch on S-S-Saturdays.“ Pete finally answers. „D-Don‘t know what she‘s u-up to right n-n-now.“

 

Mike can‘t know for sure either, but maybe it‘s got something to do with her visitors. Whatever it is, opposite to him, Sally is sitting alone with a gap to her left that seems to frighten her. Doesn‘t anyone notice that? It must be like this every week. The sight reminds Mike of earlier that day, when he was still close to passing out, and she poked his face before leaning against him just for a few seconds.

 

„Hey, Sal?“ he says as softly as he possibly can. The girl jumps slightly, her eyes grow wide. „Sorry. Did I scare you?“ She shakes her head. „Okay. Good. Uh... want me to come over to you?“

 

As expected, her answer isn‘t verbal, it‘s an inviting, if a bit hesitant gesture. To get to her Mike has to make his way around the entire table. As soon as he climbs over the bench to sit next to Sally, she scoots a bit closer to him, not trying to hug or anything. It‘s more like a way of getting away from a boy called Zachary, who is sitting to her other side. Slowly but steadily, Mike is beginning to feel more confident about learning everybody‘s names.

 

It‘s only now that Sally starts eating for real. Before Mike was by her side she just picked on her sandwich from time to time. She‘s known Pete way longer, though. Why does she allow the new guy to sit beside her?

 

„It‘s gonna take a lot to take me away from you.“ Lawrence sings once again, seemingly without being triggered by anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess this AN is gonna be a bit lengthy, but I'd really appreciate if you read it.
> 
> Before I even started writing this I scribbled down a loose summary of the whole thing just so I know where I'm going with this. I love it, and I'm gonna stick to it, but honestly when I did the summary I thought 'Yep, I'm gonna wrap this up in 30k words'. Well, here we are, barreling towards 30k and there's no end in sight. Not even a real beginning, if you ask me. I can't for the life of me tell you how long this is gonna become. But I promise, Chapter 7 is really gonna set off the story. I just felt like I needed to take it slow and make it at least somewhat believable. Nothing worse than a good idea (well, it's up to you to judge if my idea is good) ruined by a rushed approach.
> 
> Lawrence's Song of the day is 'Africa' by Toto. If you're interested, Weezer just released the most awesome cover of that song two weeks ago.


	7. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sorry for the long wait!  
> 2\. We're gonna reach 1000 hits with this chapter! Wooohooo, right?  
> 3\. I promised you this chapter would really kick off the story. And, well, it does, but I found it so hard to write I decided to split it in two chapters. So, it's not the entire thing. I literally finished this one 10 minutes ago. It's also shorter than all previous chapters.

Weekends seem to be uneventful around here. It‘s all just waiting, talking, watching Disney movies on the small TV, because apparently that‘s the only kind of movie you can show psychiatry patients without upsetting them too much. Mike would have wanted to watch something more exciting, like Ghostbusters or The Terminator, but these are just completely out of the question. Still, Bambi is a better distraction than nothing at all, and God, does Mike need distraction.

 

A few years ago he saw a recording of Johnny Cash playing at Folsom prison on TV. Back then, he wondered how many of the inmates actually liked his music, and how many just welcomed the fact that they got to hear music. It‘s really similar to this. These movies give everyone just something to focus on other than their own problems. Maybe, one day, Mike will be able to force himself to enjoy them.

 

 

* * *

 

Monday comes rolling around and with it the beginning of Mike‘s first full week of therapy. It‘s just so stereotypical. First there is PE, because that‘s three times a week, but Mike couldn‘t care less. It‘s not particularly demanding, more like running in circles, running in circles, running in circles, and nothing more. What Mike is more anxious about at first is talking. He knows it‘s coming, he knows he won‘t be able to avoid it because it‘s a daily thing here, which is an intimidating thought. He doesn‘t want them to find out what‘s wrong with him.

 

Group therapy is mercifully not exactly what he expected, though. It‘s not like in the movies or on TV, the only real similarity being that they sit in a circle with Doctor Noble, who is actually a nice person. A woman in her early thirties, seemingly understanding. She lets everyone talk if they want to, and doesn‘t force anyone who doesn‘t want to. Mike is fine with sitting in silence for an hour. At least there‘s no _‚Hi, my name is Mike and I‘m a maniac.‘_ introduction required. Mike smirks at the thought of everyone answering _‚Hi, Mike.‘_ in unison.

 

While not opening his mouth even once, like many of the patients, Mike still listens intently. It‘s pretty obvious, most of the things discussed here don‘t exactly concern Mike‘s condition, since a lot of patients are treated for depression, some even for suicide attempts, like Christie.

 

One swallowed a bunch of pills, but his father pushed a finger down his throat and made him throw up. One tried to throw himself in front of a train but was dragged away by a police officer who happened to be present. One jumped out a window and broke both her ankles. That‘s pretty much the topic for today, which was chosen at the beginning of the session by vote. According to Doctor Noble, it‘s important to talk about it for the patients, get it out of their system.

 

To her credit, there is no talk like _‚It‘s going to get better, don‘t worry.‘_ , or _‚Think about what your parents would go through if you killed yourselves.‘_. Without being a psychologist or psychiatrist, Mike is pretty sure that wouldn‘t help. At least, he knows it wouldn‘t help him. More than that, if he told anyone about his problems, how he is feeling right now, and they‘d say something in the lines of _‚It‘s gonna get better.‘_ , he would actually perceive that as an insult. It would just be proof, he isn‘t dealing with a real friend, just someone who wants to get out of this uncomfortable discussion.

 

The doctor doesn‘t offer a lot of solutions. Instead, she listens, she lets the patients talk to each other rather than to her. Doctor Noble only really steps in when they derail the discussion too much. He is almost ashamed of it, but Mike is even relieved in a way that he isn‘t the only one who is suffering right now.

 

 

* * *

 

The early afternoon sets off with something called ‚Occupational Therapy‘. Maybe Mike has heard about people in insane asylums crafting little things like figurines, household items, or toys. It just never occurred to him that this could actually be a real form of therapy. Or that ‚Occupational Therapist‘ could be a real job. Well, Mrs Hunter, a kind of stubby middle-aged woman with a Hippie-attitude and Hippie-appearance proves him wrong in these regards.

 

Basically, it‘s what the name suggests. It‘s about doing anything, really _anything_ at all with your hands. For instance, today they‘re supposed to work with clay to make something nice. The material is wet, slippery in his hands, but otherwise feels a bit like dough. Mike hates getting his hands dirty, that was always something he had to put right instantly, so while he enjoys modeling his vase, he is forced to get his mind off of the fact that his fingers now have the same dark brown color as the clay.

 

Entirely focused on his own work, loud laughter suddenly rings in his ear. „Need it so bad, huh?“ It‘s Sydney talking.

 

„It‘s a present for you.“ Christie answers. „Because it‘s been so long since you‘ve been able to spent some time alone with your uncle.“

 

What the hell is going on? Way too late it occurs to Mike that he could just _look_. When he does just that, it turns out Christie is in the middle of modeling something _very big_ , and _very indecent_ out of her clay. Now, their little conversation starts making sense, of course. Just like Sydney‘s dark red face. To Mike‘s dismay, Christie catches him watching.

 

„Impressed?“ she sneers. „Bet you‘ve never seen one that big, right?“

 

„I‘ve... uh... never...“ Mike stammers, caught off-guard by her comment.

 

„Oh, I see!“ Christie‘s face shows mock realization. „You‘ve never seen one at all. Like, they fucked up and cut yours off when you were born?“

 

Mike lets his gaze wander towards the end of the long table, where Mrs Hunter is sitting with her eyes closed, swinging her entire upper body to the Sitar music that‘s quietly pouring out of her portable cassette player. No doubt she‘s high. Working at a hospital and high. She won‘t be much help here. Mike faces Christie again.

 

„Actually...“ he grins through a sudden stroke of genius, at least that‘s what he thinks. „...it only fell off when I saw you for the first time.“

 

„Ouch.“ Christie mutters, but Sydney and Pete are almost under the table.

 

„L-l-looks like we g-got a new b-b-boss in the house.“ Pete laughs.

 

„Shut it, Pimple-Brain.“ Christie grunts. She looks at Mike, dead-serious, eyes narrowed. „I‘m terribly sorry. This one‘s for Sid, but I‘m gonna make you a replacement next. What do you say, three inches? Would be an upgrade, right?“

 

„I‘m afraid your mom won‘t be satisfied with that.“ Mike answers, equally serious. They stare into each others‘ eyes for what seems like an hour. The Sitar from Mrs Hunter‘s cassette is still chiming its eerie, other-worldly tones down the long table.

 

„Dammit. You win.“ Christie finally throws her hands in the air dramatically. „It‘s no fun when they talk back. Sid!“

 

„What?“

 

„It‘s no fun when they talk back!“ she repeats the complaint, pouting, in the voice of a little girl. „You‘d never talk back, right?“ Christie then asks Sally, suddenly all gentle. Mike is absolutely convinced, Christie would never give Sal a reason to talk back. The smaller girl leans forward, to whisper something to Christie, like she often does. In return, the older girl sighs.

 

„Hey, Mike?“ She turns her head around slowly, keeping one hand on Sally‘s shoulder. „I‘m sorry, okay?“

 

„Okay.“ Mike couldn‘t care less for her apology. Christie‘s tone is so demanding, so dishonest, he really only has to thank Sally for this. He likes that girl a great deal, and figures taking care of her is one of Christie‘s few redeeming qualities.

 

 

* * *

 

The day is over for Mike. At least, he‘s got nothing more to do now than wait. Wait for the clock to show 4PM, when his talk with Doctor Barnes is scheduled. It‘s something he‘s been waiting for, but also something he doesn‘t want to happen. He doesn‘t know to what lengths he‘d go to avoid talking about what happened. On the other hand, Mike is desperate to understand.

 

Contradictory thoughts all but flood his mind in the final minutes before someone is going to collect him. Mike isn‘t in the mood for a lot of social interaction now, so he‘s lucky the chattering patients in the room don‘t take notice of him, the way he is standing there, leaned on the windowsill, staring outside.

 

It‘s October, the weather is adequate. It seems like Mike‘s first day, the day he spent all locked up, was the last one of the year that allowed the sun to come through. Since then it has all been gray. Gray sky, harsh gray light, gray ground, gray everything. Gray faces. At least, that‘s what they look like to Mike. There is just less color in this world currently. Even the leaves that are tumbling about outside, blown further and further by the famous Chicago wind, aren‘t red or orange anymore. They‘re brown, crumbling until nothing is left of them.

 

Mike‘s earlier assumption about the location of the hospital proves wrong. It‘s not really located by a real street. The asphalt road by the front is more of a driveway, so the entire place really is purposefully remote. The only cars Mike ever sees are occasional ambulances, and personnel arriving or leaving. Without ever having seen the back side of the building, Mike suspects there must be a gate somewhere, and probably a parking lot.

 

Then, all of a sudden, he lets out a small shriek, that he‘s immediately ashamed of. He‘s even more ashamed of how his legs give in a little. Mike realizes, something touched his shoulder. No, not something. _Someone_. Lawrence. The dark-skinned boy is just standing there, looking at Mike expressionless. His arms are hanging limp by his sides.

 

Lawrence stares. Mike stares back.

 

„Uh...“ Mike doesn‘t really want to say his name. He knows what‘s going to happen, and how other sometimes use it for their own amusement. But this situation is just too weird. He surely won‘t get any fun out of hearing Lawrence sing. „Uh... Lawrence?“

 

Instead of reciting his line immediately, Lawrence takes another step in Mike‘s direction, coming really close, face to face with him. „Even dreams must fall to rules.“ he whisper-sings. No one but Mike can hear it.

 

„Okay... I guess that‘s...“ But Lawrence is gone as quickly and silently as he came. „What the heck...“ Mike mutters to himself. He wouldn‘t have thought Lawrence would ever initiate any form of communication. At least it was weird enough to fit this place. Maybe that‘s just something you have to expect at a mental hospital.

 

Mike doesn‘t have more time to think about the circumstances or what exactly Lawrence just told him, because Sybil is there to escort him to the doctor‘s office.

 

 

* * *

 

„Michael. Good afternoon.“ Polite as always, Doctor Barnes looks at Mike from behind his desk. He is obviously working on something, only looking at Mike once before turning his head back to the papers he is inspecting. Mike approaches the desk. „I‘ll be with you right away. Just... have to sign something here. Jesus Christ...“ he mutters.

 

„Something... something wrong?“ Mike asks warily.

 

Barnes looks mildly distressed. He looks up to Mike and slams the pile of papers on the table a few times. „Do you have any students in your school who seriously make their teachers lose faith in their profession?“

 

„I guess?“ It‘s more of an unsure question, but Mike is pretty sure he knows people like that.

 

„Sometimes I think I should just work here full time. Teaching is an ungrateful trade. But...“ Barnes rises to his feet with seemingly newfound enthusiasm. „...it‘s important. Especially in my field. We need more psychologists and psychiatrists in this country.“ He discards the papers, and opens the drawer that contains Mike‘s file. „Would you do me a favor?“ Barnes asks, his back turned to Mike, shifting through the folders in his drawer.

 

„Sure.“ Well, it can‘t be anything too out of the ordinary.

 

„Where is it... where is it?“ the doctor mutters. „Could you feed Ulysses? The small can next to his glass. Just shake it three or four times.“

 

Mike shrugs, picking up the can to shake a few of the little crumbs it contains into the glass that Ulysses, the goldfish inhabits. He comes up to the surface at once, trying to devour as much of the sinking fish food as he possibly can. Upon closer inspection Mike finds the fish actually has a pretty nice home, in fish terms. A few probably fake plants, a stereotypical treasure chest, et cetera. It seems like some care went into decorating the glass.

 

„Here it is.“ Barnes comes around the desk with Mike‘s file in hand. This time the folder is notably thinner. „Thank you, Michael. Please, sit down.“ Like last Thursday, Mike feels a kind of nervous tension when he sinks into the comfortable armchair, facing Doctor Barnes. „As you can see I have sorted out some of the irrelevant details from your file.“ He waves the folder to show how thin is has become. „Like I said, most of it were medical records. So, how are feeling?“

 

Well, that‘s a broad question, isn‘t it? „Okay, I guess.“ Mike shrugs. „I mean, I‘m still trying to... I don‘t know.“

 

„I should be more specific.“ Barnes says leniently. „Let‘s start with the medication then. It says here you‘ve experienced fatigue. That was to be expected. Any other side effects I should know about? It could be anything. A sore throat, accelerated heartbeat, nausea, restlessness.“

 

„I‘m still tired in the mornings, but that‘s about it.“

 

„Good. Good. Your body is adjusting. We might increase your dose later on, but we have to take it slow. I would say three more weeks before I decide on anything.“ He proceeds to scribble away on his notepad. „Now, the group. How are you dealing with the other patients? Or, how are they dealing with you?“

 

„I think I‘m okay.“ Mike answers truthfully. „I‘m the new guy. But that‘s okay, they‘re not giving me a hard time.“ To be fair, Christie really isn‘t giving him a hard time. It‘s true, Mike isn‘t too fond of her, but in the grand scheme of things she‘s probably not a bad person. He doesn‘t care too much for what she says or does to fuck with people.

 

„Very good. That‘s one of the aspects we‘re most worried about when it comes to group therapy. Feuds can really jeopardize treatment. If you ever run into any problems, don‘t hesitate and tell someone. A nurse, a doctor, it doesn‘t matter. That wouldn‘t make you a snitch.“ Barnes pops the light brown folder open, and produces a sort of list. „Ah, that reminds me...“

 

He drops both the list and the folder on the small table by his armchair, and hurries over to his desk, from where he produces another folder. This one is white, absolutely massive, and Mike already has a suspicion as to what it contains.

 

„Your mother probably told you we can‘t allow a ring binder in your room. I just thought you still might want to have the contents. Don‘t worry, it‘s all in order, and you get your binder back when we release you.“ Barnes sits back down, but doesn‘t hand the D&D folder to Mike right away. „I‘ve looked through this. I hope you don‘t mind.“

 

„It‘s okay. Find anything... uh... interesting?“ Mike doesn‘t know why he just asked that. Does he want to discuss the World of Greyhawk with his psychiatrist? Or any of the settings he invented for his elaborate campaigns?

 

„Quite a lot, actually. Most of it is in handwriting. I take it, you wrote this?“

 

„Most of it, yeah.“

 

„Well, some of my colleagues would disagree, but I think imagination is one of the most precious aspects of the human mind.“ Barnes begins shifting through the folder. „You spend a great deal of time with this role-playing game, right?“

 

„It‘s time consuming.“ Mike admits. „Writing more than playing. I mean, we can easily spend twelve hours playing through a campaign. But preparing takes weeks.“

 

„And you play these campaigns with your group of friends.“ Barnes states. „You must be very close.“

 

„Yeah.“ Mike can feel his throat clenching slightly.

 

„Michael, I‘m afraid we‘ll have to go through what happened in detail today. Knowing what‘s going on with you is the foundation for your treatment. You might have already guessed it, your... attack... focused heavily on William Byers. What can you tell me about him?“ The doctor exchanges the D&D folder for Mike‘s light brown one again.

 

„I guess a lot. Is there anything you...“ Mike knows full well there are things he can‘t tell the doctor. Hopefully, he won‘t have to.

 

„Well, you‘re obviously good friends.“

 

‚ _We were_. _‘_ Mike wants to say, but it‘s too painful, so he just chokes up „Yeah.“

 

„What do you think draws you to each other?“

 

Mike remains silent, smirking against his will at how clueless Doctor Barnes seems to be. When the man raises an eyebrow, he finally mumbles „Sorry. It‘s just... you wouldn‘t have to ask if you had ever spoken to Will.“

 

„I have read his testimony on the incident. Is there anything I should know about you two? I mean, is there more than just friendship between you?“

 

„What... what makes you think that? We‘re not... boyfriends or anything.“ He feels himself blush heavily, not because there‘s some truth to Barnes‘ words, but because the assumption itself is weird. Especially since Will came out to Mike in the summer. That‘s one of the things he‘s not going to tell Barnes.

 

„It was just the way he talks about you.“ Barnes says vaguely. „So you‘re not romantically involved. But I think it‘s safe to say you‘re not just friends.“

 

„Okay.“ Mike shrugs. „I guess that‘s true. You‘re not _just friends_ with your brother, are you?“

 

„I see.“ Barnes takes some more notes. „In that case, his disappearance two years ago must have been hard for you.“

 

„What...“ Mike croaks, before Barnes goes on in a too causal tone.

 

„I mean, he was believed to be dead for a few days, wasn‘t he?“

 

Suddenly, Mike‘s heart is racing. How much does the man know? Is this some sort of cruel game he is playing? For just a second he contemplates running, but realizes he has to calm himself. Barnes has likely read the police files. The ones Jim Hopper forged when he was the chief of police. Now it‘s just a matter of remembering the exact story they all agreed on back then. Barnes would probably notice any contradictions. „It was hard.“ he presses out, because he has to say _something_.

 

„Curious story.“ Barnes goes on. „I mean, what are the odds? A runaway from Indianapolis of similar stature and appearance finds William‘s vest in the woods, drowns, and is buried in his place.“ It‘s like the doctor is reciting the forged report word by word. Does he believe it? God, Mike hopes so.

 

„But we got Will back.“ He quickly says in an attempt at directing the conversation away from those mysterious events.

 

„You did.“ Barnes agrees with a small smile that‘s hard to interpret. „Just a second, Michael.“ Again, Barnes gets over to his desk, where he picks up the phone. „No, we‘re not done.“ he remarks at Mike‘s questioning face. Someone seemingly picks up the phone. „Yes. You can come in now. Thank you.“ Like that, he sits back down wordlessly. Mike is scared. Not nervous. Scared. Something is going to happen. Barnes not saying anything doesn‘t make it better.

 

It only takes half a minute, that‘s longer than an hour, before there is a knock on the door. „Come in!“ Barnes invites loudly. Mike‘s tension only decreases slightly when he sees Sybil walking into the room. She doesn‘t say anything either, but shoots him a comforting smile. In the end, she still contributes to his fear by just standing there.

 

„Okay.“ Barnes takes off his glasses and discards them on the small table next to Mike‘s D&D folder and a ball pen. „Let‘s go over it again. In November of 1983, your friend William crashed his bike on the way home from your house. Affected by temporal amnesia and panic, he ran off into the woods, where he remained for a week. In the meantime, a boy called Bradley Larkin, who escaped from his abusive home in Indianapolis, found William‘s vest and took it. Eventually, he drowned in a quarry. Due to him wearing the vest, and his general appearance, the local coroner believed him to be William. He was buried, but only a few days later, the real William was found, injured and severely malnourished, but alive. This is about right?“

 

„That‘s... that‘s right.“ Mike shifts his gaze between the doctor and Sybil. Both are watching him intently.

 

„Yes, that‘s what the police report says. Signed by your former Chief Hopper, indisputable and accurate.“ Doctor Barnes rubs his eyes. „I think you could tell me a different story though, Michael.“

 

„A different story.“ Mike repeats. It takes all his willpower not to throw up. He is in trouble. He is in deep, _deep_ trouble right now.

 

„Yes. Or, a different version of the same story.“ The doctor leans forward in his chair. „Michael, what can you tell me about a person only known by the name of _‚Eleven‘_?“

 

Mike is falling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, right? I don't know when I'm gonna release the next chapter. Seriously, it's hard to write right now.
> 
> Lawrence's song is 'Sister Europe' by the Psychedelic Furs.
> 
>  
> 
> Fun fact: I wanted to include Barnes and Mike chatting a bit about Tolkien, specifically The Hobbit. I just didn't find a somewhat elegant way to get this into the conversation, so I scrapped it. The plan was that Barnes mentions he read The Hobbit when it was released, which was 1937, so I'd say he was born around 1925, making him approximately 60 at the time this takes place. The thing is, I didn't know if the book was released right away in the US, or if it took a few years to reach the states. Frankly, I wouldn't have cared for the sake of the story. I was just interested. Turns out, there's a Wikipedia article specifically about early American editions of The Hobbit.
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Early_American_editions_of_The_Hobbit
> 
> Who would have thought that in the seventh impression of the second edition, the spacing between the LoTR advertisement and the main body of text is exactly 52mm? This is literally the best Wikipedia article I've ever seen.


	8. Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got drunk and wrote this.  
> Then I sobered up and made sure it's not utter bullshit.
> 
> Seriously, I don't think I've ever written a chapter this fast. But hey, this really is one of the first things I had envisioned for the story. You are not prepared.

This silence is so different. Different from every one Mike experienced in his life up to this point. It‘s not awkward, or uncomfortable. It‘s all-consuming, dreadful, and he knows it‘s going to kill him. What is happening here? This just has to be a misunderstanding. The pills have messed with Mike‘s brain, that‘s the only plausible explanation. No, Doctor Barnes didn‘t just ask him about Eleven. That‘s just impossible. How in the world would this psychiatrist from Chicago know about her?

 

„I‘m sorry?“ Mike finally asks. He doesn‘t think of himself as a good actor, but he is pouring his best effort into sounding seriously interested and confused. „I think I didn‘t get that.“

 

„I asked you about a person called Eleven.“ the doctor repeats calmly. This time, there is no doubt. He said _‚Eleven‘_. Mike‘s fingers clench into the padded, dark green armrests painfully. So painfully, his fingernails feel close to breaking off.

 

„Eleven isn‘t a name.“ he just mutters. „I don‘t know... who you‘re talking about.“ What if Barnes is one of _them_? In that case, Mike is done for.

 

„Well... let me help you then.“ Barnes flicks the folder open again. „Eleven is, or was, a girl about your age. In November of 1983, the day your friend William disappeared, she escaped from a laboratory near Hawkins.“ It‘s like he is reading the information from a paper. „She had been kept there for her psychokinetic abilities. In a lab accident she opened a gate to an alternate dimension, from where a monster emerged, the _‚Demogorgon‘_ , that abducted William. Eventually, Eleven vanished fighting said monster.“

 

He knows _everything_. Mike feels as though he has been turned inside-out, _upside-down_ , everything is twisted and just plain wrong. There‘s one thing he can‘t know, even if he is one of them, one of those people who did this to Eleven. He can‘t possibly know they called it the _‚Demogorgon‘_. The people from the lab never used that name for the monster. Mike has a hard time controlling his breathing. It‘s Sybil who pulls him out of it enough so he can speak again.

 

„Hey, Michael.“ she gently says. „Look at me. Breathe like I do. Can you do that?“

 

„Yeah.“ he chokes, not thinking about the fact that none of the information Barnes just unveiled seems to surprise her. „I think... I...“ Mike takes deep breaths just like Sybil does, until he can muster the air to yelp „How do you know?“ in Barnes‘ direction.

 

„I...“ Once again the man rubs his eyes. „...want to read you something. Word by word from William Byers‘ testimony concerning your breakdown.“ He clears his throat, which is entirely inappropriate, because it makes it seem like he is stretching things out for dramatic effect. Then, Barnes begins to read, not trying to convey any of the emotion Will must have shown while telling Chief Powell all this. His voice is all factual.

 

„Mike would have these episodes. Sometimes he‘d say something like _‚I still miss her‘_ , or _‚I wish Eleven was here‘_. When it started we asked him about it, and he just looked at us as if we had lost our minds. But I pieced the story together from what he said. Just an hour after he couldn‘t remember even talking about her. You know, we just ignored it because we were scared they‘d lock him up if anyone found out. It‘s just that I lost it last afternoon.“

 

Barnes stops reading, but Mike doesn‘t register that, until he sighs „Do you see where I‘m going with this, Michael?“

 

„No.“ Mike breathes.

 

„I know these things about Eleven because you told your friends about her, who told Chief Powell, who in turn sent me the entire report.“

 

„But... why?“ Mike can sense the tears picking on his eyes. „Why would he tell Powell?“

 

„Michael.“ Barnes seems to be choosing his words cautiously. „It would be easier if you could get to the conclusion by yourself. Do you understand William‘s statement?“

 

„Why would he tell Powell?“ Mike repeats, head swimming, swirling with thoughts and fears. „We agreed no one must ever know.“

 

„Will you be able to calm down? I can‘t tell you this when you‘re not at least somewhat receptive.“

 

Mike swallows hard. Once. Twice. Five times. He feels Sybil pressing his shoulder. „Okay. Okay. Tell me everything.“

 

„Good. Please keep in mind, this is a theory I have laid out.“ The doctor leans forwards only slightly. „Your friend disappeared. You believed him to be dead. Something like that... experiences like that leave deep imprints on our brains. Every experience, positive or negative, has an influence on who we are, how our conscious and subconscious mind works. I think you realized relatively early, William had gotten into a situation in which you _should_ have been able to help him. For obvious reasons, you couldn‘t. I mean, you were just twelve at the time, and there was nothing you could do without putting yourself in danger. But you felt you let William down. As a means of shielding yourself from that guilt, you changed the story. Or, your mind did. It invented a scenario that made it impossible for you to help. Are you following me?“

 

Not at all. Doctor Barnes is talking absolute gibberish. But Mike nods anyways.

 

„Well, you also needed a solution, or at least you needed hope. We typically don‘t enjoy that in fiction, books or movies, but in real life we are grateful for every deus ex machina occurrence. Do you know what that means? Deus ex machina?“

 

„It‘s... a problem is resolved by something unexpected. Or someone.“ Mike croaks out.

 

„Precisely.“ Barnes approves of Mike‘s answer. „We consider it poor storytelling, but who wouldn‘t want some previously unknown super hero to save the day when things are dire?“

 

„Could you get to the point?“ Mike doesn‘t say it in a demanding way. It‘s more of a quiet, all but inaudible plead. The world is rotating out of control, and he doesn‘t know how much longer he can stand this. In the distance, somewhere far out, there is a high pitched piping sound. It‘s coming closer, slowly beginning to assault Mike‘s ears while making it increasingly hard to listen to Barnes.

 

„Alright. I think I can‘t further soften the blow.“ The doctor‘s face shows generous concern as he nods at Sybil. „Michael, you spent almost that entire week, the entire time William was missing at home, locked inside your room. According to your friends, you refused to come to school that week, you refused food. This isn‘t how you remember it, is it?“

 

„What are you-?“

 

„This entire story is a construct of your imagination. There never was an alternate dimension. Or a monster called the _‚Demogorgon‘_. Eleven isn‘t real.“

 

The weirdest thing happens right then. The room stops spinning. It‘s all so very clear. Mike has to act now, it‘s either _do something_ or _die_ , because they have him. In here, all locked up with no way of communicating with the outside world, Mike is cornered. Does he have a chance? Only if Sybil isn‘t one of them. It really is a split-second decision. First, Mike‘s eyes fix on the ball pen on the table. Before he knows it, his fist darts forwards and clenches around it. _Take him by surprise!_

 

He doesn‘t waste a fraction of a second before throwing himself at Barnes, ready to do as much damage as he can with his meager weapon. The man reacts quickly though, taking hold of Mike‘s wrists with his hands. Mike can‘t get to him. No matter how hard he struggles, Barnes just won‘t budge.

 

„Let me go!“ he screams, unable to contain his rage any longer. „Where are you hiding her? Tell me!“

 

„Michael-“ the doctor tries, but Mike is louder than him.

 

„I kill you! I-“ All of a sudden, two hands begin pulling in Mike‘s shoulders from behind. Instinctively he leans forward to avoid being dragged away, but his head snaps around. Sybil is giving her best to pry him away from Barnes. This is the end. „Let me go! Let go! You‘re one of them too!“ he yells through his utter disbelief. One final effort, the remainder of his strength, goes into kicking her in the guts. It‘s just a small success, because while it sends her tumbling away from Mike a few feet, it takes only a few seconds before she regains her composure.

 

„Nurse.“ Barnes presses through gritted teeth. He looks exhausted, so Mike is probably putting up a good fight. So much Adrenaline. It‘s making him euphoric. It‘s okay. Everything is okay. At least he‘s going down fighting. Sybil limps towards him a syringe in hand. She crosses the small distance he has put between them with three or four steps, and while Mike is still trying to get his wrists out of Barnes‘ tight grip, he feels the small sting in his upper arm. The poison is a quick one. Mike‘s legs give in within a matter of seconds.

 

„She‘s going to kill you.“ He just has to make sure Barnes knows. He deserves that fear. „You can‘t keep her locked up forever. She‘s escaped once, she‘s... she‘s gonna... she...“ Mike drops like a bag of potatoes, but feels hands catching him before he can hit the ground. Everything is black already. And then it‘s also silent.

 

 

* * *

 

Mike pulls the basement door shut behind himself, backpack hanging casually from his right shoulder. He puts his left arm through the other strap though. That thing is _heavy_ , and that makes him somewhat proud. All his work. He isn‘t even sure why he is taking the whole thing. There‘s only one campaign inside they haven beaten yet, and he sure as hell won‘t let Will see everything. Only the necessary bits his friend needs to illustrate it. But Mike really likes carrying around this massive folder. It‘s proof that he is actually good in something.

 

His dad‘s car isn‘t in the garage yet, he is probably working late. So, Mike leaves the garage open when he scoots down towards the street on his bike. More than two months until Christmas. Mike is in desperate need of a new bike, having grown too tall to ride this one comfortably. He manages, though. It‘s either that, or walking.

 

Mike makes his way down Lincoln, then turns on Pinewood. He‘d like to go faster, it‘s just that his legs are now too long to really kick the pedals the way he used to a year ago. Yeah, he used to be quicker with this thing. Mike spots Max before she spots him.

 

„Mayfield!“ he shouts, still far away. It looks like she is just getting on her way as well, as she‘s headed in the direction of Will‘s house. She looks at him wordlessly until he is close enough so she doesn‘t have to shout.

 

„Care to give me a lift, Wheeler?“ She has got her skateboard with her. Mike knows the drill, this isn‘t the first time.

 

„Sure. Hang on.“

 

Max drops her skateboard on the asphalt, hops on and takes hold of the rear of Mike‘s bike. The additional weight adds to the difficulty of riding this thing for Mike.

 

„You‘ve put on weight.“ he groans nonchalantly.

 

„Charming as always.“ Max snorts. „Man up and go faster. I wanna get there before we graduate High School.“

 

„I‘m going as fast as I can!“ Still, Mike puts some more effort into pedaling. „Not my fault my legs decided to grow three sizes. Why can‘t Lucas pick you up?“

 

„You know it‘s too much of a detour. Plus, if it wasn‘t for me you‘d never get a chance at being a gentleman.“

 

Mike turns left on Richmond, now closing in on Maple Street. In a matter of minutes they reach the path to the Byers house, and due to the small wheels on her skateboard, Max is forced to walk. It just won‘t roll when the ground is muddy and sprinkled with wet leaves. The last thunderstorm was just two days ago. Even though he _could_ ride his bike, Mike decides to walk alongside Max.

**\---**

„So, what do you think?“

 

„What do you mean?“ Will furrows his brows. He has been rather absent this whole time. The whole party is sitting around the kitchen table, everyone a different piece of handwritten paper in their hands.

 

„Dude. The settings. The monsters. Do you think you can draw it?“ Mike‘s disappointment must be audible. But what can he do? This was supposed to be the big reveal. It‘s not just a campaign, it‘s an entire campaign setting he spent six months designing and writing, including a rich history, mythology, family trees for kings and queens, new monsters, palaces, dungeons, cities. It‘s all there. At least Dustin and Lucas seem enthusiastic about it.

 

„I can‘t believe it.“ Dustin laughs in astonishment. „Will, you gotta do this! You guys could easily get this stuff printed and sold! I mean, if there‘s anything D&D is missing, then it‘s new settings.“

 

„Sorry.“ Will exhales heavily. „I‘ve just... I guess not been paying attention. I can draw you anything, really.“

 

„That‘s... uh... good. I guess.“ Mike is starting to worry about his best friend. Saying he looks distressed would be an understatement. Before he gets a chance to voice his concerns, Lucas preempts him.

 

„Will? You okay?“

 

„Of course.“ Will huffs. „Why?“

 

„No offense, man. You‘re a terrible liar. Come on! Tell uncle Dusty.“ Dustin leans over to pat Will‘s back.

 

„I‘ll deal with it myself.“ is the only answer he gets. Mike is suspecting something, though.

 

„Is it Troy?“ He grits his teeth. „He looked at you funny all day. I swear to God, I‘m gonna-“

 

„-do nothing.“ Will snaps. „I‘m fine. Okay?“

 

„No.“ Mike crosses his arms in front of himself. He‘ll be damned if he lets the topic rest. „Nothing‘s okay. Dammit, there‘s five of us. Shouldn‘t we be ganging up on him and James right now?“

 

„Please.“ Lucas sighs. „You know exactly we‘re not that brave. Better live with it. It‘s not always gonna be like this.“

 

„Hearing that from _you_.“ Mike grunts. „El was _alone_. She couldn‘t count on Dustin and me to help, but she still stood up to him and James. They had a knife.“ Technically, that‘s not a good comparison. Eleven had her telekinetic powers, after all.

 

The entire kitchen falls silent at his words. _Right_ , he thinks, _they better be ashamed of themselves_. But it‘s not that. They‘re not keeping quiet because they‘re ashamed. Mike only realizes that when Will jumps to his feet, leaning on the table with both hands.

 

„Will!“ Max shoots him a wary glance. „Don‘t!“ Don‘t _what_? There is obviously something going on between his friends that Mike has absolutely no idea of, which is odd in itself. Not as odd as everyone‘s sudden shift of behavior, though. Will is staring at him, but the room is so silent, Mike can hear his own heartbeat.

 

„No.“ his friend eventually says sternly. „This has gone on for too long, and I‘ve got more than enough to worry about, even without my best friend losing his mind. I‘m putting and end to this now.“ That has Lucas on his feet too.

 

„Great!“ he shouts. „Now it‘s too late! Whatever is going to happen, it‘s your fault!“

 

„Okay, what‘s going on?“ Mike demands. To him, they are talking in riddles, plain and simple. Why would he be losing his mind? Too late for what? What is supposed to happen?

 

„Mike...“ Will groans quietly, and Lucas responds by throwing his arms in the air, dropping back to his chair, and burying his face in his hands. Dustin and Max are both equally pale, though in Max‘s case that‘s nothing new. She is a redhead, after all. Will takes some time before he goes on „You have to stop this.“

 

„Stop what?“ Seriously, this is getting annoying.

 

„Talking about this Eleven-person as if we should know her.“

 

Mike rolls his eyes. „Well, _you_ obviously don‘t know her. She disappeared before you came back from the Upside-Down.“

 

„See?“ his best friend yelps. „There it is again. This Upside-Down mumbo-jumbo shit! Something is seriously wrong with you.“ He slams both hands down hard. „I‘m gonna tell someone. My mom and Bob. Or your mom. You need help, man.“

 

„You‘re making absolutely no sense right now.“ Mike gets up, fed up with what is likely a sick joke.

 

„ _You‘re_ making no sense.“ Will counters. „One second, everything‘s fine. The next, you‘re rambling about this psychotic invention of yours. I‘m... I‘m worried, Mike.“ His voice gives in at those last words, becoming more scared and vulnerable than furious. Still, the heat of rage is building up in Mike‘s stomach.

 

„What the fuck are you about?“

 

„She‘s not real, Mike!“ Will kicks the table once, making Dustin, Lucas and Max jump. „You‘ve been going on about this alternate dimension. This goddamn government conspiracy. This _girl_. We‘ve listened to it for over a year, now it‘s enough. You need a doctor.“

 

Mike needs a second. More than that, actually. The words went straight into his ears, but his conscious mind has troubles grasping them. _‚She‘s not real.‘_ Three words that hammer against his forehead from the inside, once he understands what they‘re supposed to mean.

 

Cold dread rushes through his veins. _How in the world didn‘t he notice? How long has this been going on?_ It‘s all so clear suddenly. He knows Will better than anyone, probably even better than Mrs Byers and Jonathan.

 

So, how didn‘t he notice, his friend‘s nose is all off? It‘s a bit higher up than it should be, and not as straight. The same goes for Will‘s eyes. They‘re further apart than usual, and the color is just slightly off, just as his hair color and skin tan are.

 

Will... no... the _agent posing as Will_ , stares in Mike‘s eyes, unmoved. „So? What do you say? You won‘t have to do it alone. I‘m... we‘re all gonna help you through this, Mike. But you _need_ treatment.“

 

Mike stumbles back from the table, until his back comes in contact with the kitchen wall. He hits the light switch, making the overhead lamp flicker into life. In the bright light it pours all over the room, the mistakes in the agent‘s disguise are even more apparent. „Who are you?“ Mike breathes. This is a kind of panic he has never felt before. If that agent is here, then _where is Will?_ What have they done to him?

 

„Mike?“ The agent approaches him warily. „It‘s... it‘s me.“

 

„Well done, Byers!“ Lucas snarls. „You‘ve fucked him up even worse.“

 

„No!“ Mike shouts, realizing Lucas doesn‘t notice the differences in Will‘s appearance. „Lucas, look at him! That‘s not Will! It‘s not him!“

 

„Holy shit!“ Dustin spits out. „Will, get away from him. I‘m calling 911.“

 

„No! Dustin!“ Mike is seriously panicking now. „Let me... let me prove it!“ He has no idea how he is supposed to prove it, but there has to be _some_ way. Like, asking the agent questions only Will could answer.

 

„Mike, there‘s nothing to prove!“ Lucas yells. „This is Will! It‘s him! And he‘s right, Eleven isn‘t real! Fuck, you made her up! Got it now?“

 

„I‘ll prove it!“ Mike screams, hit by a sudden idea. He has to get _through_ the disguise. It‘s elaborate, but the agent must have somehow gotten into it, so there must be a way to get this counterfeit skin off of him and expose him as what he is. An impostor. Mike darts over to the kitchen counter, and aimlessly picks one knife from the knife block. This has the entire room in turmoil, but he knows it‘s only going to last until the agent is exposed.

 

He must not kill him, though. Not before he has his answers. Right now, that impostor is probably the only one who knows where they are keeping Will, and possibly El. The thought causes euphoria to rush through his veins. _El_. Maybe he‘ll get a chance to save her!

 

Mike uses the element of surprise. Will‘s sloppily manufactured doppelganger seems frozen in shock, and while it takes all his willpower to look past the still familiar face, Mike manages to leap forward and ram the knife deep into the agent‘s right shoulder, where he knows it won‘t do too much damage. He doesn‘t scream, it‘s more as though the attack has knocked all air out of him when he drops to his knees.

 

Perfect! Now it‘s just a matter of pulling this fake-skin off to see who is hiding underneath the disguise. Mike pulls the knife out again, momentarily stunned by the sheer amount of blood that‘s erupting from the fresh wound. It taints not only the agent‘s shirt, but also Mike‘s, and the kitchen floor. Those fake eyes are wide, looking at Mike with greatest surprise.

 

He mentally prepares to sink his fingers deep into the wound to pull the costume off. Only, someone won‘t let him. Three pairs of hands grip at Mike‘s shoulders and his waist simultaneously, and he is yanked back through frantic shouting.

 

„Holy shit!“ he can hear Dustin shouting again.

 

„Max, get out of here! Call 911.“ Lucas yells, and one pair of hands leaves Mike. „God dammit, you‘ve lost your mind!“

 

And only now, Mike gets it. Everything. He understands, but it‘s the worst kind of understanding. The one that leaves you with wide open eyes, finally able to grasp the extent of the danger you‘re in.

 

Why was he so blind before? It‘s not just Will. Lucas‘ hairline is off. Dustin‘s stature is just a little too slim. It‘s them too. And Mike would bet his ass that Max has been replaced too. Her surrogate is probably calling the lab to take him right now. Mike can‘t let that happen. They‘re going to replace him too, his parents, Nancy, Holly, they will never know it‘s not their son or brother who is sleeping in their house, eating dinner with them.

 

That must mean they‘re dead. His friends, they‘re all dead, probably have been for months or weeks. Mike can‘t imagine a reason why they would keep them alive. An earth shattering cry involuntarily escapes him.

 

He swings his knife at them, and while fraud-Dustin can dodge, he is satisfied to notice the blood gushing from the other agent‘s thigh. Lucas‘ impostor yells in surprise and pain, but right as Mike is about run off, just dart through the front door to find someone, _anyone_ , he can still trust, his wrist is twisted from behind to a point where it comes close to breaking, and a sharp noise rings in his ears when the knife drops to the floor. Next, his arm is yanked around and up, forcing him to his knees.

 

That is the precise moment he knows, he is finished. His assumption was right. Max is one of them too. Maybe she was from the beginning. Sent to infiltrate the party, and to replace Mike and his friends with agents one by one. They saved him for last, and now they‘re holding him down, waiting for backup to arrive.

 

Well he isn‘t going to make it easy for them. „I kill you! You‘re dead! You‘re all dead!“ Mike screams at the top of his lungs, struggling against Max, who is now all but sitting on his back, holding his arms firmly in place, while the remaining agents begin tending to their wounds. He can hear whimpering, wheezing, faint cries. Nothing could be more satisfying.

 

At least, they‘re going to remember him for a while. Mike has to grin. For how many weeks will they get out of bed in the morning, flinch at the pain in their stitched up wounds, and remember who did this to them? How close he came to killing them.

 

 

* * *

 

_...floating..._

 

_...falling..._

 

_...déjà vu..._

 

_...dark..._

 

_...déjà vu..._

 

_...déjà vu..._

 

„Michael?“

 

_...not again!..._

 

 

* * *

 

„He‘s coming back, doctor.“

 

Mike stirs slightly. The gentle voice echoes, as if it‘s coming from the far side of a long, empty hallway.

 

„Good.“ This is Doctor Barnes talking. „It should be easier this time. Can you move your fingers, Michael?“

 

Mike does just that. The man is right. It _is_ easier than last time. He is already able to clench both hands into fists. Weak fists, but fists. It‘s something. His breathing is slow and steady, and not under his control in the least. Meaning, he couldn‘t inhale deeply even if he wanted to.

 

Only until his eyes flutter open, though. Then it‘s all deep breaths, frantic and almost painful, trying to get as much air into his blood stream as he possibly can. The white light is blinding Mike‘s eyes, causing him a headache. This is the examination room. The one he woke up in once before.

 

„Shit!“ he croaks in between his hiccuped breaths.

 

„Indeed.“ Barnes, who comes into view when Mike tilts his head, agrees. Sybil is standing next to him, and she looks a bit lost, as if she wants to help, but knows she just has to let things go their way right now. „How are you feeling?“

 

Mike‘s breathing steadies gradually. „I just told you.“

 

„You did.“ Barnes takes a few notes, like he always does when they are talking.

 

„How long-“ Mike looks down on himself to find they have mercifully left him in his clothes. His right sleeve is ripped open at the shoulder. Everything is sore, every little muscle in his body.

 

„About an hour.“ the doctor answers. „What do you remember?“

 

Well, what _does_ he remember. The answer is simple. _Everything_. At least, he believes he can remember. It‘s not like his memory could be called accurate or dependable. „I attacked you.“ Mike says bitterly.

 

„And why did you attack me?“

 

Mike decides to sit up. Against all protests from Sybil and Doctor Barnes, he throws his aching legs down from the stretcher he is lying on, and then pushes himself up. Big mistake. Sybil has to dart forwards to catch him when his head begins swirling with lights, noise, and pain, and Mike dips forwards. She gently lays him back down.

 

„Not so fast.“ she scolds.

 

„Michael. Do you remember why you attacked me?“ Barnes repeats insistently.

 

„You... told me something.“

 

„And what did I tell you? Michael, this is important.“ The doctor‘s eyes seem to pierce him intently.

 

„You said I was... I was imagining things. That... I... was imagining... E- E-“ Mike can‘t breathe. God, he can‘t breathe. He is going to die, suffocate, right here under the eyes of Doctor Barnes and Sybil. She‘s not real. She‘s not real. _She‘s not real!_

 

„Nurse!“ he can hear Barnes ordering from so, _so_ far away.

 

Just as his arms begin flailing in front of him, trying to grip _something_ , Sybil grabs hold of him, to flip him over to his side, before crouching in front of the stretcher to come face to face with Mike. „Take my hand. Like this, yeah.“ She helps Mike close both hands around hers. „Press down as hard as you can.“ He does as he is told, causing her to grin slightly. „That‘s all you‘ve got? Come on, there must be more in you.“ Mike hardly even notices his breathing normalizing again as he uses all his strength on her hand.

 

„I‘m sorry.“ Mike can only whisper right now. „I kicked you.“

 

„I‘m okay.“ she assures him.

 

„Didn‘t look like it.“

 

„Because I was startled.“ Sybil tries to explain. „I‘m okay, I promise. It wasn‘t your fault. You-“

 

„You were overcome by paranoia.“ Barnes cuts in. „So, you do remember what I told you about Eleven?“

 

„You said she doesn‘t exist. That I made her up because I felt helpless about Will being lost.“ Mike croaks out. „And Will said the same before I... you know.“

 

„Very good.“ the doctor praises. „That means we have laid out a foundation for your treatment. I know you‘re probably exhausted, but I think you would benefit from a bit more explanation. If you‘re not up to it, we could resume on Thursday, though.“

 

„No!“ Panic begins boiling inside of Mike again. He can‘t end this right here. There is too much to think about. Too much to worry about. If they sent him to his room right now, he would go absolutely crazy over night. „Tell me more. Everything you can.“

 

Barnes adjusts himself in his chair a bit. „Alright. Well, let‘s start with why exactly you attacked your friends and me. You have already guessed it, it was because we made you aware of a fact. The fact that-“ He raises his eyebrows. „Well, I‘m afraid I can‘t say it. You know what I mean, but the precise words act as a trigger for your paranoia and psychotic breakdowns. That‘s really the issue we have to tackle from now on.“

 

„Trigger.“ Mike repeats skeptically. „So if anyone tells me she‘s not real, that‘s enough to make me flip my... well...?“

 

„That‘s pretty much it. What I‘m going to attempt is getting you to accept that fact. Because, right now you might say you believe me. Do you?“

 

„I don‘t want to.“ Mike says without thinking. It‘s the heartfelt truth. He wants her back. He has wanted her back for two years, and finding he was wrong, crazy, all along is just too much to bear. It‘s as though there‘s nothing left. No past, no future, just this terrible present, and there is no escape from it.

 

„Well, regardless of what you think now, you‘re not going to accept it in an instant. In the next few weeks, we will go through all the evidence from that time two years ago together. And it would make it easier for both of us if you at least listened.“

 

Mike agrees to that. What else is there to do anyways? Listening doesn‘t mean believing. And he really, _really_ doesn‘t want to believe. But there are just things you can‘t undo. The doubt is there, now that Mike remembers.

 

From school, especially from the overly enthusiastic Mr Clarke, Mike has learned how people throughout history have challenged their own perception and beliefs over and over again, leading to new and sometimes sensational realizations. They dared to question what they thought were cold facts. It‘s always the doubt that marks the first step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, yeah. Alcoholic_Kangaroo and TooFondofStars both guessed it.  
> I'm sorry. I'm not sorry.
> 
> By the way, I'm still amazed at how big this is turning out. I think it's safe to say I'm moving towards 70k words with this. We'll be seeing some time skips over the next few chapters.


	9. All Hallows' Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting out chapter after chapter. I'm in the fucking zone, guys!
> 
> So, here's the deal: This chapter doesn't give you a lot of new insight. It's just some bonding and stuff like that. But it contains major spoilers for 'The Halloween Tree' by Ray Bradbury. So if you don't want to know stuff about it, skip to the bottom of the page and read the summary I'll include in the end notes. BUT: The book is an enjoyable experience, even if you know how it ends. That being said, enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I used a few lines from the above mentioned book in this chapter. Obviously, I don't own these. If you are interested in the book and want to support Ray Bradbury's corpse, please buy it.

Time doesn‘t fly. Not like this. It‘s Mike‘s fifteenth day in here, and while two weeks rarely ever seemed like much when he was still at home, in here it might as well have been two months. Only when he was waiting for something did time ever drag like this. Christmas, his birthday, the release of a new video game or X-Men issue, something in the lines of that.

 

Up until that terrible afternoon that he learned the supposed truth, Mike slept well. He doesn‘t anymore. The knowledge of how crazy he actually is has become a weight that doesn‘t allow for a good night‘s sleep. Instead, nights now go by in episodes.

 

It usually starts with going to bed with that insanely thick lump in his chest that just won‘t relent.

 

Then it‘s all tossing around restlessly for an hour or two.

 

After that, two hours of sleep, three if he is really lucky.

 

Next is waking up, realizing where he is and what happened, and crying, maybe for an hour, maybe for two. That‘s the worst part of it, because it makes Mike feel small, like the child he probably is but doesn‘t want to be.

 

Some nights, he can go back to sleep with the help of that cursed teddy bear. Every morning he swears he is never going to touch it again. That promise to himself is quickly forgotten when night falls, however. The sun leaves early in the evenings, and the noise from the city rarely ever reaches the hospital, only when the wind is blowing in the right direction. That makes for a dreadful ten hours, alone and confined to one room in darkness and silence. Just terrible, dark thoughts to listen to.

 

Mike can barely read. Technically, there‘s nothing in the way of that, now that his mom has brought him a small plastic flashlight from home. It‘s his mental condition that doesn‘t allow him to process any information. The same goes for writing. It‘s as though the connection between the hand that‘s holding the crayon and his brain has been cut off. He doesn‘t try anymore.

 

His talks with Doctor Barnes really aren‘t helping too much either. Like the doctor promised, they just go through all the evidence, trying to debunk Mike‘s imaginative version of the events that led to his condition.

 

_The fake corpse?_ \- Not fake or fabricated at all, just an unlucky kid from Indianapolis. Mike thinks it‘s too much of a coincidence, but Barnes is right when he points out that it‘s still more believable than a government agency fabricating a corpse to stop the police from looking for Will.

 

_Benny Hammond?_ \- Suicide. Of course, the lab made it look like that. Turns out the business wasn‘t running too well, and he had his back against the wall.

 

_The showdown at their old Middle School?_ \- None of that happened. Mike‘s mom wouldn‘t lie when she told the Chief Mike rarely ever left his room the entire week of Will‘s disappearance, would she?

 

She knows everything. She knows about Eleven now, about the Upside-Down, about the Demogorgon. It‘s no surprise the doctor talked to her about these things. All the more relieving is the way she deals with it around Mike. His mom agreed not to ask him things when she comes to visit. Mike and the doctor both don‘t want her to, for different reasons. Thinking about how she is going to embark on a ten-hour endeavor every single Saturday from now on, just to sit in silence next to him for a few hours gets the guilt hammering in Mike‘s stomach. He just hopes he will be able to keep himself from crying on Saturdays. She doesn‘t need to see that.

 

Neither do his friends. Needless to say, he hasn‘t called them. Four letters have arrived for Mike in these two weeks he has been here. Sure, Barnes has read them all, just like the safety regulations require, but Mike hasn‘t touched them once. _Out of sight out of mind_ , so he just banished them behind the row of books on his shelf. If he doesn‘t answer, they‘re going to stop eventually. That would be better for everyone involved. Mike just has to make sure they hate him. It‘s for their own good, no matter how much it might hurt right now.

 

Mercifully, there are still things to distract him. Mike listens intently whenever a doctor says something. It‘s weird that he never sees Barnes around the hospital outside of their scheduled appointments, but that‘s probably because he is usually either working with adult patients, or teaching classes.

 

Then he‘s got his school work, of course. Calling it _hard_ wouldn‘t do the difficulty of it justice. It‘s not just because of Mike‘s completely deranged mind. There are no teachers here, only Mr Garcia who come two or three times a week to answer some questions. Everything else Mike has to learn on his own. But there‘s this well-known stubbornness that has always been a part of him. Mike refuses to fail. He probably spends more time with his textbooks than all the other patients combined.

 

 

* * *

 

3PM. The sun, hidden behind a thick layer of all but black clouds, is hanging low already. Rain, made up of massive drops, is splashing against the window in a way that makes it seem as if someone is pouring out large buckets on the roof.

 

Usually, there would be at least one more group activity for the day. Maybe a discussion, Occupational Therapy, or just an hour or two of school with Mr Garcia. None of that today, though. The walls all around them are hung with garlands showing bright orange pumpkins, pitch black bats or vampires, and white ghosts and skulls, all made from paper or cardboard.

 

One that‘s hanging right above the wide door that leads to the hallways spells _‚Happy Halloween‘_ , though Mike doesn‘t know if he can agree to that. There‘s really nothing happy about it. He doesn‘t even feel the desire to fatten himself up with the giant bowls of candy that are set up all over the tables. Almost everything is there, even his favorite, _3 Musketeers_. No Snickers, or anything that contains peanuts for that matter, though. Someone around here is allergic, at least that‘s what Sybil told them when asked about the lack of peanuts.

 

Mike sighs. A one pair. Two 9s. He won‘t get far with that, so he just slams the cards down on the table and leans back. „I‘m out.“ He doesn‘t want the pile of candy that makes up the pot anyways. Besides, Poker is no fun when two of the participants, Sally and Christie, are constantly whispering to each other. In the end, it‘s really no surprise when Sally takes the candy home and decides to share it with Christie. They‘re like sisters, and for Sally‘s sake Mike has no problem losing to them.

 

He leans back with a long exhale, earning a him a derogatory huff from Christie. As per usual, she doesn‘t care of her half-chewed chocolate bar comes on full display when she speaks. „Particularly moody today, Moody Mike?“

 

„It‘s Halloween.“ Mike shrugs. „And I‘m in here. You can‘t be enjoying this.“

 

„Yeah, that s-s-sucks.“ Pete agrees. „They c-could have at l-l-least let us have c-cos-costumes.“

 

„And what would that be good for, Pimple-Brain?“ A few pieces of chocolate fall out of Christie‘s face, landing on her shirt. Sally giggles quietly at that. „There‘s no parties we could go to. No trick-or-treat for all you little children, no-“

 

„Please. You‘re like three years older than me.“ Mike snaps at her. „As if you‘re the adult around here.“

 

„I‘ll be one in September, thank you very much.“

 

„As if.“ Is she really that naive, or is it all just out of spite? Mike has to laugh. „You‘re not gonna be an adult until you‘ve learned to keep your food where it belongs.“ He can‘t say he doesn‘t enjoy these talks with Christie sometimes. They manage to make him feel a bit more sane, a bit more grown up. Really, in comparison to her Mike is somewhat of a shining example for a functioning adult, even if he is a bit more than three years away from turning eighteen.

 

„At least I‘ll be able to buy cigarettes then.“

 

„Yeah, but why would you?“

 

„Why would I?“ She shakes her head in disbelief. „Jeez, can you believe this one, Sal?“ The girl next to her stays quiet as ever. „I‘ll have you know, I‘m a chain smoker.“

 

„I‘ve never seen you smoking.“ Mike returns.

 

„Well, duh. They won‘t let me smoke for as long as I‘m here.“

 

„Okay...“ Mike props his elbows on his knees, dramatically burying his face in his hands. He‘s having a hard time keeping the laughter contained. „So you‘ve basically stopped smoking. But you plan to go back to it once you‘re out? You‘re buying cancer, you know that, right?“

 

„I have _not_ stopped.“ Christie insists. „I‘m just sort of in between cigarettes.“

 

„Y-yeah.“ Pete snorts. „Like my d-dad is in b-b-between jobs.“

 

„Look.“ she huffs. „I don‘t want to-“

 

_Crack!_

 

It‘s as though the entire building is being shaken by an impact of _something_. This was probably the loudest thunderclap Mike has ever heard. Sally jumps right at Christie, who wraps both arms around the now trembling girl. It‘s Lawrence, whose reaction really gets Mike, though. The dark-skinned boy begins rocking forwards and backwards in his chair, eyes wide open. „ _Distant thunder rumble, distant thunder rumble!_ “ he sings in an unnaturally deep voice.

 

„What the fuck.“ Christie utters. „Lawrence?“

 

„ _Distant thunder rumble, distant thunder rumble!_ “

 

„Christie, come on.“ Mike sighs. He still thinks it‘s not okay to use Lawrence for entertainment. „Leave him alone.“

 

„Hey, I‘m not doing this to get my laughs out of it. It‘s just so... fitting, isn‘t it?“ She is serious this time. „I mean, it‘s always one song, all day long. How did he know we‘re in for a thunderstorm? I‘m just curious. How does he even choose his songs?“

 

Mike has asked himself that too, admittedly. And yes, today‘s lyrics seem fitting for the situation. But that might just be a coincidence.

 

_Crack!_

 

„ _Distant thunder rumble, distant thunder rumble!_ “

 

„Shit, that really triggers him.“ Christie groans. Sally is still clinging on to her like a sloth to a tree, trembling slightly. There is no nurse in sight to help. At least, none who could be bothered. Wherever Sybil is, they could use her help right now.

 

_Crack!_

 

This time, it‘s accompanied by blinding lightning. How fitting for a Halloween night. „ _Distant thunder rumble, distant thunder rumble!_ “ Mike feels like he is in the middle of a horror movie. He, for his part, likes thunderstorms. They always send comfortable chills down his spine. But for Sally and Lawrence he hopes it‘s going to stop soon.

 

_Crack!_

 

„ _Distant thunder rumble, distant thunder rumble!“_

 

„Shit, the old bat doesn‘t give a flying fuck!“ Christie curses at Nurse Plummer. „Look at her with her god damn crossword puzzle.“ She proceeds to whisper gently to the trembling girl in her arms.

 

„Hey. I got an idea.“ Well, Mike at least believes he has one. It helps Holly when she is scared of a thunderstorm, so it‘s worth a try. But not here. There‘ too much going on, too many voices, too many faces, too much movement.

 

„I‘m listening.“

 

„Can you get her to your room? Lawrence too. Pete, do you wanna come?“

 

„W-what‘s this about?“ Pete eyes Mike skeptically.

 

„Can‘t tell right now.“ he counters. „It‘s a surprise. Not gonna hurt or anything. Bring some of the candy.“

 

„N-nothing to l-l-lose I guess.“ the boy utters. „Christie?“

 

„Okay.“ she shrugs. „Let‘s get you out of here. Lawrence, follow me.“

 

„ _Distant thunder rumble, distant thunder rumble!_ “ he sings while following Christie, who is carrying Sal, and Pete into the hallway. Mike takes another moment to see what Nurse Plummer is doing. As it turns out, she doesn‘t bat an eye. If it was just for her, all the patients could probably vanish.

 

Mike then follows the others, but takes a quick detour to his own room. This probably could get him in a bit of trouble, but it‘s not like he is about to hurt anyone. If he is lucky, his room will be in order again before anyone notices. First, he skips through the books on his desk. „Dammit.“ he curses. Next, he climbs on top of his bed from where he can reach the shelf above it. The teddy bear has to make way, so Mike can access the books. He finds the one he was looking for. It‘s really pure luck that his mom has brought it.

 

Now to the risky part. Mike rolls up the blanket first, and places it on the floor. The mattress, while both slim and thin, is still heavier than he anticipated when Mike pries it from its tall metal frame. Before he drags what is basically his entire bed outside in the hall, he checks if it‘s safe to do so. As expected, there‘s no trace of Nurse Plummer or anyone else. Mike is still mildly anxious with his blanket and mattress in tow, so he hurries over to Christie‘s room as fast as he can. Christie herself, Sally, Lawrence and Pete are waiting there for him.

 

„Sleepover?“ the older girl sneers. „Well, okay, but my daddy insists we keep the door open. No funny business.“

 

„Says the one who wanted me to kiss her ass two weeks ago.“ Mike grunts. „But no. We‘re not having a sleepover.“ He drops his mattress in the narrow space between Christie‘s bed and the wall, right beneath the windowsill.

 

„Hey!“ she shouts half-mockingly when he yanks her mattress out of the bed frame. „I put a lot of effort into making that bed.“

 

„You didn‘t. But if you insist, I‘m gonna clean up later. Okay, here we go.“ Mike pulls the mattress to the windowsill so that it hangs as a sort of roof above his own on the floor. „Do you see where I‘m going with this? It‘s gonna be a bit cramped, so some of us might want to stretch their legs outside.“

 

_Crack!_

 

The thunder is really everything but relenting. „ _Distant thunder rumble, distant thunder rumble!_ “ The finishing touch consists of the blankets, thrown across the top mattress they turn the crummy looking contraption into an at least half-acceptable pillow fort. Just without a lot of pillows.

 

„Are you kidding me?“ Christie laughs. „Ten minutes ago you were trying to tell me how to behave grown up... and now this?“

 

„Sally, do you want to get inside? It‘s safe in there.“ Mike speaks gently, purposefully ignoring Christie. Sally nods in response, leaving the older girl absolutely no choice. They both climb underneath the blanket, disappearing completely in a matter of seconds. Pete shrugs to himself and does the same.

 

_Crack!_

 

„ _Distant thunder rumble, distant thunder rumble!_ “

 

„Lawrence, come in!“ Christie commands. Mike doesn‘t know why that boy always complies, but he does, mumbling his line once again. Flashlight and book in hand, Mike follows him. Just like he predicted, it is pretty crammed. Not uncomfortable, though. Everyone has something to lean against, be it the wall, the bed frame, or in Sallie‘s case Christie.

 

It‘s dark in their pillow fort, because while the sun hasn‘t set yet, it‘s hidden behind this massive storm front, dark gray and cruel, that‘s covering every visible spot of sky and sends gallons and gallons of water down on the building.

 

„So this is all? Your master plan? Look at her, Mike.“ Christie is right, Sally is still trembling against her.

 

„Obviously not.“ he sighs impatiently. „Look at this.“ He illuminates the cover of the book he brought with his flashlight.

 

„ _The Halloween Tree_?“ Christie suddenly laughs. „You didn‘t need to bring that. Got my own copy here. Are we gonna read it?“

 

„No.“ Mike‘s voice oozes with sarcasm, though he is slightly startled at her sudden gusto. „We‘re gonna look at it and sing a song about string beans.“

 

„String beans?“

 

„I was... jeez, I was just trying to be random.“ he huffs. „Of course we‘re gonna read it. I‘m gonna read it. I mean, if you want me to.“

 

„W-what‘s it ab-ab-about?“ Pete eyes the drawing of a tree that‘s swaying in a strong wind curiously.

 

„Just let him read it.“ Christie answers, before Mike gets a chance to. „It‘s really good, you‘re gonna like it. I‘ve read it every year for Halloween since I was ten, I think. It‘s gonna be what, two, two and a half hours?“ She raises her eyebrows at Mike, who nods. „Two and a half hours. So, if anyone needs to pee, help yourselves.“ She vaguely points in the direction of her toilet.

 

„Funny...“ Pete utters. „G-get started I g-guess.“

 

For a few more seconds, Mike watches the others. They watch him in turn, expectant eyes flickering. And Mike starts reading.

 

„ _It was a small town by a small river and a small lake in a small northern part of a Midwest state. There wasn‘t so much wilderness around you couldn‘t see the town. But on the other hand there wasn‘t so much town you couldn‘t see and feel and touch and smell the wilderness._ “

 

The story builds up quickly. A group of friends goes trick-or-treating, only to find that one of them is missing. Guided by the mysterious Mr Moundshroud, they embark on a journey through time and through the history of Halloween to find him. They visit ancient Egypt, Stonehenge, Paris, and in the process learn how so many rites from all over the world could morph into the holiday kids nowadays celebrate by dressing up and demanding candy.

 

Mike knows from experience at School that a lot of kids don‘t like these sort of educational books wrapped up in a plotline. But he does. Christie seemingly does too. And through a few quick glances, he notices how Sally is all but hanging on his lips.

 

 

* * *

 

„ _And the harvest wheat, flailed up, spun round on the wind, shrieking its souls, all those who had died in the-_ “

 

„What on earth is going on in here?“ Mike is cut off about halfway through the book. He wants to react, but Christie is faster. It looks a bit like she has been waiting for something like that to happen. Of course, it‘s Nurse Plummer. Out of all the people who work in this place, it _has_ to be her.

 

Christie scrambles out of the pillow fort at once. „Doesn‘t concern you.“ she grunts.

 

„Excuse me?“ the elderly woman shrieks. Pete and Sally both look frozen in shock, but Lawrence just can‘t keep his mouth shut.

 

„ _Distant thunder rumble, distant thunder rumble!_ “

 

„Ms Spencer!“ the nurse gnashes her teeth audibly. „This mess going straight to your record. Remove this contraption at once.“

 

„Make me, Nurse Ratched.“ Christie challenges.

 

„Strike two.“ the woman snarls.

 

„Stop.“ Mike crawls out from underneath the blanket and to Christie‘s side. „It was-“

 

„-my idea.“ She roughly shoves him back down. „Just a bit of Halloween fun.“

 

„You call that fun?“ Nurse Plummer is foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. „You‘re getting order into this room _this instant_! I‘ll-“

 

„Agnes, what seems to be the problem here?“ The calm, almost amused voice causes Nurse Plummer to spin around on the spot.

 

„This one, Sybil!“ she points her bony finger with the long red fingernail directly in Christie‘s face. „Look what she did!“

 

Sybil takes a step into the small room to inspect the pillow fort. She crouches down in front of it, smiles lightly, and then turns back to Nurse Plummer. „You have told them to get rid of it and clean this place up?“

 

„Of- of course I have.“ the older woman squeals.

 

„Well, good.“ Sybil claps her hands once. „I‘ll take it from here. Don‘t you have to clock out?“

 

„Let me finish-“

 

„Agnes. I can supervise them cleaning up.“ Sybil sighs warmly. „You‘ve been here since what, 5:30? You‘re closing in on twelve hours. Go home, your husband misses you.“ Somehow, Mike can‘t imagine that to be true. That poor man is probably dancing on the kitchen table right now.

 

„Well...“ the woman softens up a bit at the prospect of going home. „I wasn‘t trying to question your competence.“

 

„I never assumed that.“

 

„You‘re... you‘re right, Sybil.“ Plummer runs a hand down her wrinkly face. „I should get going. My useless husband might set the house on fire trying to cook dinner. Goodnight, Sybil.“ Her face is still begrudging towards them when she turns around one last time.

 

As soon as she is out of the room, Sybil crosses her arms in front of her chest, leans against the wall, looking down on the little group, her mouth a small line bent neither up or down. The harsh, fast footsteps in the hall end with a door slamming shut. After that, it‘s all silence, save for the rain that‘s still tapping against the window.

 

„What‘s going on here?“ Sybil finally demands.

 

Mike holds the book out to her. „We‘re reading.“

 

She eyes the slim book for a second or two. „How far in are you?“

 

„Halfway through.“

 

Sybil leans her head from one side to the other, biting her lip as if she is thinking hard. The tension from their encounter with Nurse Plummer hasn‘t left Mike yet, and it won‘t until he knows what‘s going to happen next.

 

„You‘re gonna clean this up.“ Sybil says.

 

„Yeah.“ Mike sighs, hanging his head. Well, it was nice as long as it lasted. A welcome distraction, and something he did for the others. He needed that. But right now, there‘s nothing left to do but pull down the blankets and-

 

„Michael?“

 

He turns back to face her.

 

„What are you doing? You have two and a half hours until dinner. I‘ll check up on you then.“ Now Sybil is back to smiling, and Mike can‘t help the feeling there was a bit of acting involved from her side, for dramatic effect. „So, Bradbury, huh? I liked _Dandelion Wine_ when I was your age. Have fun.“

 

Mike wants to thank her, but she is gone quicker than he can even realize what just happened. He just stands there, staring at the empty door frame. Until someone snaps their fingers in close proximity to his eyes.

 

„Hey. You still in there, Mikey?“

 

„Uh... yeah. You guys wanna continue, or did that just kill the mood?“

 

„Let‘s f-finish this.“ Pete answers. He hasn‘t spoken before, and Mike knows exactly why. The boy just can‘t talk in front of Nurse Plummer. Sally‘s eyes rest on Mike pleadingly.

 

„Okay.“ He and Christie both crawl back inside, cramming themselves in between the others again. „I think I‘m gonna start with the beginning of the chapter again.“ He clears his throat, and is about to resume reading, when a small commotion ensues next to him.

 

„Ouch!“ Christie yelps. „Sal, what-“ The girl is climbing right over her lap to sit next to Mike, before she tugs on the book once.

 

„You wanna read along?“ he assumes, which is met by frantic nodding from Sally. So, she does. Mike had no idea she can even read, but it certainly seems like it the way she lets her eye wander across the page while Mike reads out loud.

 

 

* * *

 

Maybe it was a bit of a stupid idea. Not really, Mike absolutely loves this book, but hell, the ending leaves him shaken up beyond belief. Everyone seems to have enjoyed it a great deal, and it looks like the story had exactly the soothing effect on Sally and Lawrence that Mike hoped for. The thunderstorm has calmed considerably by now, and if Mike has managed to help them forget or ignore it, even for just ten seconds, that‘s good enough for him.

 

Of course, none of them know what this book has done to him, especially during the final couple of pages. The boys in the story all give up one year of their lives to save their friend and assemble in front of his house to see if they were successful. The fact that he was actually in the hospital, having his appendix removed, then suddenly puts everything into question, their entire journey through history, everything they have seen and done _might_ just have been imagination.

 

There‘s that doubt again. It‘s there for Mike, at least. In the story, Tom Skelton, the main protagonist, doesn‘t even once question his memory. Maybe he is crazy too, just as crazy and potentially dangerous as Mike is.

 

This is exhausting. Thinking, contemplating, every single second of every single day since the extent of his insanity was revealed to him. Mike is alone with Christie now, helping her with making her bed. The others have already gone off to wait for dinner. He wishes he was somewhere else. He wishes, he could just give in to it. Accept that he is broken beyond repair and venture out into the woods, to either found a sect for conspiracy theorists turned serial killers, or starve to death. Serial killers. Yeah, he would attract them like a pile of shit attracts flies. The Wheeler family. That‘s what they would call themselves.

 

These are the dark thoughts that accompany him nowadays. It startles him when she starts talking. „That was... that was good, Mike.“

 

„What?“ He raises his brows in surprise. She is sounding to honest.

 

„The story, retard. God, have Pete‘s pimples infested your brain too?“ Christie puts some finish touches on her blanket, that is now as neatly folded as it‘s supposed to be. „Look, all I‘m saying is... you helped Sal a lot. And your voice isn‘t as annoying over time as I thought.“

 

„What‘s wrong with my voice?“

 

„Nothing.“ she huffs. „Didn‘t you listen? You‘re cracking up a lot, is all. But that‘s cute.“

 

„Okay...“ Mike says slowly. „Listen, I‘m still not gonna kiss your ass.“

 

„If you're continuing with this big-brother-attitude towards Sally, I‘m gonna end up kissing yours.“ she teases in response.“You know, there‘s still hope for her.“ Her voice becomes somewhat dark, with pleading undertones at those words.

 

„What do you mean, for _her_? Something wrong?“

 

„No. And if you ask me again I‘m gonna kick you into those wrinkled little raisins you call your balls. Now grab your stuff and get out of here.“

 

It‘s not just _something_. There are a lot of things wrong here, but Christie doesn‘t want to talk about it, and that‘s okay. Mike doesn‘t want to talk about his problems either, and credit where credit is due, she doesn‘t ask or pressure him into anything. That‘s why he wordlessly picks up his mattress and blanked, before dragging them down the hall towards his own room.

 

In retrospect, Mike can‘t complain all that much. They had candy. They had a nice Halloween story. They had a thunderstorm. And they even had a scare worthy of Halloween, with a terrible ghoulish monster and everything. This Halloween was probably as good as it could get in here, behind bars and thick metal doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the summary first, for all those who want to enjoy Bradbury spoiler-free.  
> Small time skip It's Halloween, two weeks after Mike was admitted to the hospital. He's not really coping, he can't sleep anymore, and the only thing the doctor can do is present him with the evidence that Eleven isn't real over and over again.  
> A thunderstorm really upsets Lawrence and Sally, so Mike decides to read the whole group a book, 'The Halloween Tree'. They build a pillow fort in Christie's room, but Nurse Plummer wants to fuck them up for making a mess. Christie tries to take the blame, but Sybil comes to save the day.
> 
> Lawrence's song of the day is 'Tupelo' by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. Because, come on, what else would you sing during a thunderstorm.
> 
> God dammit, btw, I love all your comments. I can't thank you enough for those and your Kudos! Chapter 10 will really be one of my favorites so far. I've been looking forward to writing this from the beginning! So stay tuned, maybe it's just around the corner. Maybe it's gonna take a week. Who knows?


	10. 4 out of 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly, what am I doing with my life? I tell you what. Putting out chapter after chapter after chapter after chapter...
> 
> Alright. Grab some comfort food and wrap yourselves up in a blanket. This one is a bit longer, and I absolutely LOVED writing it. I hope I can make some of you cry, but we're also kinda moving out of the dark waters of depression here.

If Mike‘s first two weeks felt like two months, well, his first two months felt like two years. Just like October, November passes with its endless gray clouds, less and less hours of sunlight every day, and temperatures so cold the nurses rarely open a window anymore, except when absolutely necessary.

 

Mike can‘t believe how long it has been. How long since he has last left this building. Since he has had a home-cooked dinner, slept in his own bed. He doesn‘t like to think about it, but he definitely has forgotten the pattern of the wallpaper in his family‘s living room. Nothing he usually paid attention to, but something he just saw every day without even noticing how quickly the memory of it could wither away.

 

Mike still neither reads, nor answers to any of the letters he gets. On average two envelopes arrive every week, sometimes it‘s just one, sometimes it‘s four, and by mid-December they are piling up on his desk, so he can‘t hide them anymore to take his mind off of them. He just tries not to look, unwilling to find out how things are going in Hawkins. He has never been out of contact with Will, Dustin, Lucas and Max for such a long time before, and it‘s both painful and relieving. It shields them from his negative influence, and it protects him from the guilt.

 

Visits from his mom still go as usual. So far, she has been his only visitor, not because his dad doesn‘t want to see him, but because Mike insists it‘s not worth the hassle. Finding a babysitter for Holly, taking the long drive. It‘s bad enough that his mother does it every single week, spending the entire day away from home.

 

Mike hates that idea, but he has learned to keep his mouth shut. Once he proposes she should only visit every other week. That earns him a slap across the face, and not even a light one. Nothing she has ever done before, and she regrets it immediately, but the pain, at which he doesn‘t even flinch, isn‘t the reason why he doesn‘t bring it up anymore. It‘s because his words made her cry. So Mike accepts it.

 

It‘s really the only thing he can accept. Doctor Barnes constantly tells him how well his therapy is progressing, but to Mike‘s that‘s complete and utter bullshit. He doesn‘t see the progress here. He doesn‘t feel it. Every day, it‘s just a blur of a gray world passing by tauntingly slow. It really is absurd, but the doctor says Mike is going through something called the _‚five stages of grief‘_ , as if he has really lost someone. But how can you lose someone who never existed in the first place? How can you mourn a loss that is actually supposed to be a recovery from a sickness?

 

 

* * *

 

**Denial**

 

Mike wakes up at night. Every night. He always takes a few seconds, at times up to a minute, until he realizes he isn‘t in his bedroom at home. The first thought is always, _always_ something in the lines of _El could bust him out of here_. And then everything comes crashing back down on him, the inevitable wave of memory and realization that seems to drown him. During these days, it‘s as if he loses such a massive amount of water through tears alone, that he doesn‘t need to use the toilet anymore.

 

Barnes, meanwhile, tries to get Mike through this as best as he can, but what he can do is hardly good enough. The police files are all there. The evidence is presented to Mike time and time again, every single one of his questions is answered, and combined with all his friends‘ testimonies and pure logic, it can‘t really leave any doubt. It‘s science fiction, that‘s all. The lab, Eleven, telekinesis, an alternate dimension. Completely absurd. But Mike inverts everything he is told into something negative. Proof that Eleven is not real? That‘s more like proof of how crazy and fucked up Mike is.

 

Then, two weeks in, it finally happens. Mike sleeps through an entire night. The next night he wakes up. But he doesn‘t think about how she is going to come and save him. Mike knows everything, the cold facts, right away, and it makes him so sick he has to throw up.

 

 

**Anger**

 

„Why me?“ Always that one question. Mike thinks it, he says it out loud, he screams it into Doctor Barnes‘ face, sobs it into the dark of his room at night. Yes! He gets it, for fuck‘s sake! Will‘s disappearance was a trauma. That‘s a perfectly reasonable statement. Mike is the first one to admit that. And yes, Will was his _best_ friend. But that doesn‘t mean Dustin and Lucas weren‘t affected by these events. So why, why in the world is Mike the only one who is left broken and fucked up beyond repair by this? Is he just weak? Is it that?

 

More than once he flips the small table in Barnes‘ office. It‘s never an attack, and the doctor luckily doesn‘t perceive it as one. He watches, composedly and without flinching, knowing that it‘s nothing more than a valve for Mike‘s uncontainable rage and anger. „Why me?“

 

The man‘s answer always is „That‘s nothing anyone can answer that easily. The actual reasons behind mental illnesses aren‘t sufficiently explained by science yet. Part of it might be genetics. Part might be your extremely vivid imagination. Regardless, the question you‘re asking doesn‘t serve a purpose Michael. It wouldn‘t, even if there was a definitive answer. It _is_ you. That‘s a fact. Asking about the why and the how will never get you out of this.“

 

But can Mike get out of this? Does he even want to? In the end, it‘s his mother who helps him with banishing his anger to some place far away, where it doesn‘t affect him too much. Whenever he wants to scream at the utter injustice of what has happened, he forces himself to envision her stopping at some gas station along the highway on a Saturday afternoon, because she can‘t take it anymore. It‘s probably not what happens, but the emotion it causes him is stronger than his rage. It makes him recall his obligations: Get better. Come home. Relieve her from this torture.

 

 

**Bargaining**

 

But why can‘t Mike have both, his sanity and Eleven? There must be some way! There just has to be! As far as he knows, this is all about his paranoia. About how he thought his friends were agents sent to assassinate him. What if he could just get this fucked up idea out of his system? The mere presence of an imaginary friend wouldn‘t hurt anyone, would it? He could even live with the knowledge that she isn‘t real, if she could just _be here_. There is nothing he wouldn‘t do to accomplish this.

 

It‘s in this stage, during one of their hour long talks, that Mike tells the doctor. „I kissed her, you know. I mean, I really was in love with her. I think I still am.“ It‘s humiliating to admit that he is in love with a made up character. He might as well tell his psychiatrist he is in love with Princess Leia, or Wonder Woman.

 

„Interesting.“ Barnes notes. He seems to understand. „Though not particularly surprising. You were going through a time of developing sexual urges, that certainly played a role in the whole fantasy.“ He carefully avoids saying the precise words that could lead to Mike exploding again. „We all experience our first sexual encounters in our heads, there is nothing unusual about that. I‘d say Eleven was just at the right place at the right time for that.“

 

Mike blushes when he realizes he pretty much confessed to something like the pre-stage of a wet dream in front of Doctor Barnes.

 

„You do realize, if you try to keep her inside your head, it‘s forever going to inhibit your ability to engage in a relationship?“

 

Is that a thing you think about as a fourteen year old? Relationships, sure. Sex, absolutely. Well, rarely in the last two months, but during better times maybe up to three times a day. Now, though, in the wake of the events of the past months, Mike takes the idea a few steps further. Marriage. Children. He can never have these things with an imaginary girlfriend. God, if he somehow wished her back into life, would she even age? Would he end up as a greasy forty year old with an imaginary twelve year old for a girlfriend? No. He can‘t bring her back. It would ruin his entire life. _What good would going on with his life do without her, though?_

 

 

**Depression**

 

It‘s from that moment on that Mike stops bothering. He can‘t eat half of the food they serve him anymore. There is no moving backwards, that much is clear. But there‘s also no moving forwards, because _she_ isn‘t there. Mike is so goddamn focused on Eleven, and he can‘t even understand why. There are people in his life whom he has know for way longer. Longer than a meager week that he spent inside his darkened room, trapped inside his own festering mind. Shouldn‘t these people be more important? But nothing is important. Mike couldn‘t care less, even if the Russians decided to drop the bomb and blast this entire planet into and apocalyptic oblivion.

 

He still talks to Barnes, though. It always turns out the exact same. „I don‘t care.“ „I should just stop eating and drinking. What could you do about it?“ It‘s an empty threat. Mike knows, hospitals have ways of feeding patients who refuse to eat. Going through this would be too much of a hassle. He considers suicide an option. With enough determination, it should be possible in such a controlled environment. Even the thought of his mother, his father, his sisters, gets pushed into the back of his consciousness by the idea. It‘s just that Mike can‘t even make himself care enough if he lives or dies. Killing himself would mean he would have to do something besides sitting and staring at the walls, and he just isn‘t in the mood for that amount of effort.

 

He takes to lying down flat on the floor at night, with no pillow or blanket whatsoever. That causes Mike two entirely sleepless nights before he can‘t take it anymore and sleeps a full eight hours in that position. Everything hurts. That‘s good. Barnes increases his dose of Thorazine.

 

Mike thinks he looks terrible whenever he looks in the mirror. At some point he got tired of his hair falling into his face, so he had it cut. Now, without the weight of his semi-long curls, it‘s standing up in all directions, constantly changing and untamable. That, his latest growth spurt that has left him scrawnier than ever, as well as his gray skin and dark eye bags, makes for the appearance of a walking corpse.

 

 _Zombie Boy_. It was a cruel nickname for Will after he was officially declared not dead, but it has never fitted anyone better than Mike. Barnes increases his dose of Thorazine again, and Mike wonders how he would feel without it. But only for a second, until he remembers that he actually doesn‘t care.

 

On every level, mentally and physically, Mike is deteriorating. One Monday he outright refuses to shower. The day after he doesn‘t go either. Neither does he on Wednesday. It is only on Thursday night, when he is reeking, hair shining with grease, that they quit tolerating it. Specifically, Sybil does. Mike is completely apathetic towards her dragging, or rather carrying him into the washroom, where she nonchalantly tells him he is disgusting, and that he is jeopardizing the hygienic regulations of the hospital. She then proceeds to grant him ten seconds to decide: Shower voluntarily, or have her do that for him.

 

Mike shrugs and complies. Sybil is stronger than she looks. Fighting isn‘t worth it, showering is only a matter of a few minutes. If that means she is going to leave him alone again, he is fine with it. Only, she doesn‘t leave him alone. Once he is done washing himself, dressed in fresh clothes, Sybil escorts him back into his room, and forces him in his bed. She doesn‘t leave for a long time, opting to sit by Mike‘s bedside. Maybe she expects him to cry, but that‘s not how it works anymore. Mike pretends to fall asleep, and after she is gone he waits another ten minutes, before he climbs out of the bed and down on the floor to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

It‘s the same day yet again. How many times in a row has Mike lived through this? This is nothing but a time loop on infinite repeat. Waking up, staring out the window, doing absolutely nothing, maybe being forced into therapy groups he can‘t follow anymore mentally.

 

Christmas Eve was four days ago. According to Christie, the food was good. He didn‘t eat, and she doesn‘t ask him why. Just as he doesn‘t ask her why she has softened up so much towards him. Lately, there hasn‘t been a single insult. Not a word of ridicule. Just honest answers on very rare questions. Nancy is home for the holidays. She is going to accompany their mother for today‘s Christmas visit, but Mike doesn‘t want her to come. She will cry, and that will make it worse.

 

He stares out the window, watching the snow fall with utter disinterest. Usually, he would want to build a snowman. He would hum the melody to _‚Frosty the Snowman‘_ to himself, thinking he is way too grown up to enjoy that song, but still keeping it up. That‘s not how things work right now. The snow in Mike‘s head is just as real as the thick layer of white outside of his window.

 

Someone knocks on the door frame. Mike doesn‘t turn around. He knows exactly what his mom and Nancy look like.

 

„Michael, sweetie?“ Karen Wheeler hums from behind him.

 

„Huh.“ he grunts in response.

 

„How are you? Listen, honey...“ Her tone is apologetic, Mike notices that much. „Nancy would have loved to see you. But she‘s stuck in Boston. You know, the blizzard.“

 

„Don‘t watch news.“ he shrugs. Somewhere along the way, he seems to have lost his ability to speak in whole sentences. His mind and body are running on reserve.

 

„Yeah.“ she mutters. „Well, now you know. I‘ve brought someone else instead.“

 

„Told you not to bring Holly.“ Mike mutters. „Doesn‘t need to see this. Go home. Bye, Holly.“

 

„God...“ she sighs, probably so quietly she hopes he doesn‘t hear her. „Is it okay if I leave you two alone for a while?“

 

„It‘s okay, Mrs Wheeler. We‘ll be fine.“ _No!_ That‘s not Holly‘s voice. It sounds nothing like a four year old girl. Besides, Holly would never call their mom _‚Mrs Wheeler‘_.

 

Mike is frozen in shock. He can hear his mom leaving down the hallway, maybe she‘s going to get a coffee from the vending machine and have a little talk with a nurse or something. He curses her for leaving him alone like this with the intruder. There is nowhere he can run. Nowhere he can hide.

 

„Hey, man.“ No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, _no!_ How can they let this happen? Will isn‘t supposed to be here. He isn‘t supposed to be anywhere near Mike. Or Mike isn‘t supposed to be anywhere near Will, that‘s more accurate. Will is good, in every sense of the word. He deserves to be able to go anywhere he wants. It‘s Mike who has to be locked away, at a safe distance from the people he could hurt. So, then why in the world would that dense idiot choose to come _here?_

 

Footsteps slowly approach Mike. „You know, that‘s usually the moment when you say _‚Hey, how are you?‘_ , and I‘d say _‚I‘m fine.‘_ , and then we‘d sit down and have a little talk. You choose if we‘re talking Star Wars, or X-Men.“

 

„Go.“ Mike croaks. There is nothing else he can say. His swollen throat doesn‘t allow for words.

 

„I think I‘m gonna sit down.“ The bed frame creaks quietly. „Jeez, that‘s not comfortable. Do you actually sleep in this bed?“

 

„Huh.“

 

„And... and that‘s where you take a shit?“ Mike can only imagine Will pointing at the toilet in the corner.

 

„Go!“ Mike snaps, louder and more insistent this time. The response he gets is a long, heavy sigh. Another creak of the bed.

 

„Well, I tried.“ Will says nonchalantly. „Bye. I‘ll see you when you come home. Guess you wanna talk to your mom now?“ His footsteps, that sound so much smoother and lighter than those of Mike‘s mom, quickly move into the distance. But they turn silent too early. Way, way too early for him to have reached any of the doors he could use to leave. Mike warily turns around, half-expecting to see Will still in the room with a smug grin plastering his face.

 

He isn‘t entirely wrong with that assumption. As soon as he has turned to face the room, Will storms back in through the door, coming into view for the first time. Mike notices that he is a lot taller now, having at least kept up with Mike‘s own growth spurt. He looks seriously hurt. Not physically, no, in that regard he seems fine. No leash, no awkward movement, that‘s regular old Will. Only, his face is crumpled into itself. Well, it‘s his own damn fault for coming here. There is no regret on Mike‘s side in that regard.

 

„At least you‘re looking at me now, but shit, you‘d actually let me go, wouldn‘t you?“ Will scowls at him, eyes narrowed into small slits.

 

„Yeah.“ Mike is fed up. It‘s as though the sight of Will is activating regions of his mind he has kept shut and locked away for the past couple of weeks. „And if you don‘t go on your own, I‘m gonna-“

 

„You‘re gonna _what?_ “ the smaller teen taunts. „Beat me up and kick me out? _Finish the job?_ Unfortunately I don‘t have a knife on me, but how about that?“ With frantic hands, Will produces his loudly rattling key chain from his front pocket. „Sharp enough to slice me open? Go on, take it!“ Mike steps backwards until his back hits the wall, when Will comes closer, offering him the key chain in a mocking gesture. Mike‘s entire body is boiling. The tension he feels looking Will dead in the eyes is worse than anything that has happened to him here so far. For just a second, he really thinks he‘s going to jump forwards and just break his jaw.

 

„Cut the crap or I swear to you I‘m gonna flush that down my toilet!“ Mike threatens, pointing at the three shining keys. One for the Byers‘ front door, one for their back door, one for the lock Will uses for his bike. „Get out of here, I‘m not talking to you, Byers!“

 

„You know, that‘s pretty fucked up.“ Will shoots. „You haven‘t even read them, have you?“ One step to his left and he is by the desk, shifting through the untouched envelopes.

 

„No.“ Mike shrugs. „You‘re an idiot for even sending me stuff.“

 

„Okay... then I must be really stupid for coming here, huh?“

 

„Couldn‘t get much dumber than that.“ Mike agrees. „I wonder how you remember to breathe without someone telling you.“

 

„Yeah.“ Will‘s disappointment with Mike‘s reaction to him being here is apparent. It‘s all but oozing out of him. „Then I‘m an idiot, who cares? But my mom fought that doctor guy tooth and claw to get me in here, and you‘re being, like, really disrespectful towards her. He didn‘t want to let me visit at first. Not until you‘re better. I guess he was right, I should have waited.“

 

Mike‘s stomach churns hearing those words. It takes a lot to keep his legs from giving in, but he can‘t allow himself that weakness. „Your mom?“ he whispers. Overly protective Joyce Byers, the woman who won‘t let her son go outside after dark anymore, is suddenly _fighting_ to get him into a room with the sick bastard who almost killed him?

 

„She‘s worried about you.“

 

„Well, then she‘s even dumber than you are.“

 

Will‘s hands clench into fists of rage, and for a second Mike dares to hope he is on the right way to get rid of him for good. _That‘s it. Keep insulting his mom._ Maybe Mike will even get to feel a few punches to the face. He craves that so much, for the same reason why he sleeps on the floor now. It‘s still too good for him, but at least it‘s closer to what he deserves than a bed, complete with pillow and blanket. „Your mom-“ he starts in an attempt to keep the pressure up, unsuccessfully.

 

„I‘m sorry, Mike.“ Will interrupts quietly, and Mike is really done for. „I should have done something about this earlier. You... you wouldn‘t be in here if I had.“ That _absolute little shit!_ He actually dares to apologize. Mike figures, he has already tolerated too much these last couple of minutes. _Not this._ Not in a million years is he going to allow this to go on. He is quick, hands on both of Will‘s upper arms, ready to push him out into the hall. After that it will just be a matter of holding the door shut. It‘s just that the smaller teen fights back. And, holy shit, does he fight.

 

Neither of them use their fists, they‘re not trying to inflict any actual damage, but a full-blown scuffle ensues between them. It‘s Mike trying to push Will, Will pushing back in turn. Then it‘s Mike attempting to kick at Will‘s legs, holding him by the shirt to catch his fall and then drag him out of the room. But Mike is weak and sore from days and weeks of not eating enough, from lying on the floor all night, from not participating in PE anymore. At home, Will would have been no match for him. Things have changed.

 

They are all over the room, pushing and shoving, never letting go of each other. Mike pins Will against a wall for just a second. Will returns the favor only moments later, making Mike‘s aching bones throb with pain that‘s just short of agony. Mike gets close to lowering Will‘s head into the toilet at some point, but even from that he can break free. Completely exhausted, hurting all over his strained body, Mike makes a final attempt at toppling Will over.

 

In the end, it‘s Will who gets Mike to fall, careful not to let him hit the floor too hard. Even now, Mike hasn‘t given up, but there‘s nothing he can do besides wiggling and squirming under Will‘s grip that‘s restraining his arms to his sides.

 

„Fuck you!“ he spits.

 

„Fuck _you!_ “ Will spits back, leaning over him.

 

„No, fuck _you!_ “ Mike insists.

 

„Stop saying _fuck you_.“ Will snorts.

 

„You stop saying _fuck you_.“ Mike growls.

 

„Okay. Fine. I‘ll stop saying _fuck you_. Because I‘m the better person here. At least I apologized.“

 

„Then why did you still say _fuck you?_ Why can‘t you just... just...“

 

„Just what?“

 

Silence.

 

„...hate me.“

 

„I think that‘s enough. Mike, you‘re a stupid shit. You even look like shit with that dumb haircut and everything. But you‘d have to do a lot more to get me to hate you.“ There‘s something finalizing to Will‘s words. He is the unchallenged winner on every level, physical and emotionally. Mike knows their little brawl is over, he has lost. That doesn‘t mean he knows where they‘re going from here, though. He still has to come to terms with the fact that he can‘t make Will hate him. Also, it‘s mildly astounding that no one noticed the commotion. One would think the personnel wouldn‘t leave a potential murderer alone with his potential victim. „Do you think I can let you go?“

 

Mike closes his eyes. „Yes.“

 

„And what are you gonna do? Hit me? Choke me, or something?“

 

„No.“

 

„Then what are you gonna do?“ Will insists.

 

„I... think... I don‘t know.“ Mike has to admit that, because if there is one thing he is not guilty of, then it‘s dishonesty. He doesn‘t lie to Will. He never has, and never will.

 

„Good enough for me.“ the smaller teen shrugs. „Don‘t make me regret this.“ And then he lets go of Mike, drops to his ass on the floor leaned against the wall, and inhales deeply. Only once, because Mike doesn‘t give him a chance to do more than that.

 

Too late Mike realizes what he is going to do might just look like another attack to Will. Does it matter? There is no way in the world Mike can stop himself now. After two months, and all that has happened, he isn‘t in control anymore. He has felt bursting sensations before, too many times to count. This is nothing like any of these, except maybe for the moment he learned Will was alive and recovering, back in 1983. If everything else he believed to know about that time is a lie, this can‘t be. It‘s the same painful eruption of emotion.

 

Mike darts forwards, all his abused muscles scream in protest, and throws both arms around Will, completely taking him by surprise. He picks up on it fast enough, though. Specifically, when Mike yelps at the raw, physical pain that is now exploding in his chest. Mike can feel something rip open in there, which even causes him a second of panic, thinking he is suffering a heart attack. But Will‘s arms close around him too, and that‘s just the best thing that could happen right now.

 

It‘s not as if Mike still has a choice. He has to sob, and tremble, and hiccup. He has to make a mess of thick teardrops and disgusting snot that he pulls up his nose over and over again with sickening snorting sounds. It‘s all just basic bodily functions that need to take their course, really the same as breathing. But if crying alone at night is like inhaling the reeking air of a muddy swamp riddled with skunks, then this is like gasping for fresh, relieving air after keeping your head underwater in the pool for too long.

 

Mike subconsciously tightens his embrace to a point where both his own and Will‘s ribs are cracking audibly. Will is sobbing just as heavily now.

 

„I‘m sorry!“ Mike squeaks into his shoulder. „I‘m sorry!“

 

„ _I‘m_ sorry!“ Will counters in between his own hiccups.

 

„I stabbed you!“ Mike states the obvious, still absolutely unwilling and unable to let go.

 

„I know!“ Will cries. „How crazy is that?“

 

„I c-could have k-k-killed you.“

 

„You didn‘t.“

 

Mike curls up slightly, his shoulders just won‘t stop heaving in the rhythm of his wet hiccups. He wants to stay like this forever, even if it means his vision is forever going to be a blur of salty tears, and his nose will be forever clogged by viscous snot. If he is disgusted by this, Will doesn‘t say it. Maybe he wants to stay like this too. Mike hopes he does.

 

They both take their time wordlessly, since there‘s no need to hurry. It‘s as though all of Mike‘s limbs and joints have locked up around Will for a long while. He can‘t let go before he has calmed himself, and since Will is having a hard time with that too, both just remain wrapped around each other.

 

Before today, Mike never realized how much laughing and crying are alike. He doesn‘t even notice how Will goes from sobbing to snickering for a few moments. Not until his friend starts laughing out loud. „You stabbed me!“

 

„Don‘t laugh!“ Mike weeps in response.

 

„Can‘t!“ Will is gasping for air. „Imagine... imagine us like ten years ago when we met in kindergarten.“

 

„What do you mean?“

 

Will‘s voice sloppily turns into that of a pre-schooler, when he imitates the first words Mike ever said to him. „ _Hey, I‘m Mike do you wanna be my friend? By the way, ten years from now I‘m gonna flip my shit and stab you._ “

 

Mike spits out a noise that is somewhere between a wet sob and hysteric laughter. „Maybe you should have just told me to piss off.“

 

„No way!“ Will suddenly becomes dead-serious, leaving no trace of either laughter or crying. He still doesn‘t pull back, but Mike wouldn‘t let him anyways. „You can‘t say shit like that. I love you, man.“ It‘s just a whisper.

 

Mike can only whimper against Will‘s Christmas-colored checkered shirt. As much as he wants to say something, the words get stuck before they make it across his vocal cords. All his tears allow him to see is a swirl of Christmas-tree-green, Santa-Claus-red and a bit of white. It‘s okay. _It‘s okay_. They‘re still friends. It‘s so unbelievably terrible to think he could have just answered the letters. He should have. Two months with no contact whatsoever, that‘s two months they‘re not getting back. But they can still take it from here.

 

„Hey, Mike?“

  
„Yeah?“

 

„My ass hurts. Can we get up?“

 

Mike nods, and releases his grip on Will ever so slowly. With faint groans and pain in their limbs, they both manage to get up, despite Mike‘s refusal to let go of Will entirely. Both their eyes are bright red and close to swollen shut, and that doesn‘t make navigating the room easier. Eventually, they come to a stop on Mike‘s bedside facing the window.

 

„Does it still hurt?“ Mike mumbles. He has to know, no matter Will‘s answer.

 

„Not really.“ he shrugs. „It‘s just weird. I can kinda feel my heartbeat in there when I‘m lying in bed.“ He points one finger at the injured shoulder. „And last month we had this insane thunderstorm at home, and I swear it started hurting like hell five hours before that. I always thought this sort of grandma talk _‚My bones are hurting, we‘re in for a storm‘_ was just bullshit, but it‘s real.“

 

„B-but it‘s not always gonna be like that, r-right?“ Mike can‘t bear the thought that Will is forever going to be reminded of this, be it through pain, or just a visible scar. He deserves better. „Will it go away?“

 

„Doesn‘t look like it.“ Will answers truthfully. „I mean, I‘m not gonna be in pain for the rest of my life, but the scar... you... you wanna see it?“

 

Mike doesn‘t want to. It could very well make him throw up. He nods. That prompts Will to undo the top two buttons of his shirt and pull she collar to the side, exposing his right shoulder. Mike gasps, but somehow keeps it together. The pale skin there is split with a dark, swollen line of maybe two inches, crossed smaller lines from the six stitches it took to mend it.

 

The memory of what it looked like when it was fresh, and how Will reacted when Mike pulled out the knife is inflating like a balloon inside of his brain, until the pressure makes it feel like his eyeballs are about to pop out.

 

„The knife w-wasn‘t that b-big.“ he stutters, because it‘s the truth. There is no way the knife he used, that was one inch wide at best, could have left a scar like this. Will narrows his eyes uncomfortably.

 

„You... you kinda dragged it down another inch and made it bigger when you pulled it out, I guess.“ Will mutters, buttoning his shirt back up. Mike is glad he doesn‘t have to look at the ugly scar anymore. „Can we not talk about it anymore? I‘m through with it.“ Will pulls Mike into another comforting embrace.

 

„Lucas.“ Mike sniffs. „What about him?“

 

„Hey, you know Max likes scars. He‘s her tough guy now, and they can‘t keep their hands off each other lately.“

 

„So you‘re telling me she has seen him without pants on already?“ Mike half-laughs.

 

„Looks like it.“ Will answers dryly. „Or maybe he has just described it to her, or taken a photo. I have no idea. But listen, they‘re all desperate for news. Get in contact. Please.“

 

Mike shifts restlessly for a few seconds. He has to admit, he‘s scared, and he probably won‘t be able to call them any time soon. That would just be too much at once. „I‘m gonna write you all.“

 

„That‘s good.“ Will sighs. „Really. Hey, that reminds me...“ He pulls back to show Mike a smug grin. „...you have no idea what‘s going on with us all, have you? Like, what we were all up to.“

 

„Not really.“ The guilt of not having even read the letters threatens to overwhelm Mike again. „I‘m sorry.“ he adds in a faint whisper.

 

„Let‘s get you up to date then.“ Will‘s grin grows wider, toothier. „I told them. Everyone. My mom. Bob. Jonathan. The party. They all know.“

 

That‘s probably the biggest surprise Will could have in store for him. Mike‘s memory of the past two years is slowly but steadily coming back to him. He remembers nights in his basement, or in Castle Byers, just spent talking. Specifically, trying to convince Will it‘s okay. That they‘re all going to accept him the way he is. „All of them?“ Mike gasps in surprise. „How did they react?“

 

„Mom made me chocolate chip pancakes.“ The smaller teen rolls his eyes. „She burned them, and Jonathan made a new bunch. The guys were cool about it. I can‘t even remember why I was so worried. We‘re a weird bunch anyways, a fag for a friend doesn‘t make it worse.“

 

„Don‘t call yourself that!“

 

„But it‘s true.“ Will shrugs. „Just don‘t tell the people around here, or they might just lock me up with you and try to cure me.“

 

„It‘s an insult, Will.“ Mike insists.

 

„Not if I say it!“ Will groans. „It‘s like when Lucas says the N-word.“

 

„He doesn‘t say the N-word.“

 

„You‘re right. But no one would mind if he did. Besides, I even got a fag friend now.“ It looks like Will has been waiting to tell Mike this for an eternity, now practically bubbling with excitement.

 

„You got _what?_ “ Mike yelps.

 

„Well, I don‘t know if we‘re really boyfriends, but... y‘know... we kissed and all that...“

 

„Who?“ Mike demands.

 

„You know Wesley Thornell? From my art class?“

 

The image of a blonde boy with freckles, just slightly taller than Will and equally scrawny, comes to mind. „I think I‘ve seen him around. You guys are dating?“

 

„I don‘t know.“ Will‘s voice becomes somewhat pained. „This stuff is all so complicated. Must be too for normal people, but we can‘t even go out in public together. We just hang around Castle Byers and talk. Or kiss, I guess. But I really like him.“

 

„Hm.“ Mike snorts. „I‘m gonna have to take a closer look at that guy when I‘m back.“

 

„Why?“

 

„Easy. Gotta make sure he‘s not gonna dump you. He breaks your heart, I break his face.“

 

„Careful!“ Will scolds tauntingly. „They‘re gonna keep you here for the next ten years if anyone hears this. Besides, I‘m not stupid. We‘re having fun and all, but you can‘t seriously believe it‘s gonna last forever.“

 

To be honest, Mike is astonished at Will‘s maturity about the subject. It‘s a trait the he himself, and his other friends, are probably still lacking. Not Will, though. First love. Of course it‘s not gonna last. Mike squeezes him tightly. „Doesn‘t matter now, does it?“

 

„I guess not.“ Will sighs. „It‘s just that... I really don‘t want it to last.“

 

„How‘s that?“ Mike‘s brows furrow at seeing Will so in doubt. But it‘s only for a moment. Then his friend looks up at him, grinning cheekily.

 

„Kinda goes against my plans. Dude, I got it all laid out.“

 

„Wh-“ Mike can‘t even speak one word before Will goes on with newfound enthusiasm.

 

„When we go to college, we gotta get an apartment, and then on Fridays I‘m gonna piss off to some place else because it‘s your turn to bring a girl home. Saturdays are gonna be my nights to bring a guy, so you‘ll have to find some other place to sleep. Sundays we‘re gonna get drunk and celebrate our success.“

 

Mike had no idea he could still laugh as hard as he does at those words. It makes all those little muscles in his face sore, and he has to hold on to Will for dear life to keep himself upright and on the bed. „You‘re- that‘s kinda... kinda dirty!“ he gasps. „And how... how do you know we‘d even enjoy drinking?“

 

Will has lost it just like Mike. His laughter is shaking him violently „Well if we don‘t we just smoke pot.“

 

„Jesus Christ, Byers, you‘re gonna end up in jail. And what do I do then?“

 

Will snaps out of his laughter at once, and Mike realizes this emotional roller coaster is far from over. „I‘m not gonna risk that. I just... don‘t wanna miss you anymore.“ The last words are all but mumbled.

 

„I don‘t know how much longer they‘re gonna keep me here.“ Mike sighs in response. „But we‘re gonna celebrate your birthday together. I swear.“

 

„Still a long time.“

 

Mike doesn‘t understand why he even bothers letting go of Will, if he throws his arms around his friend over and over again anyways. He could happily spend the entire afternoon like this. _Happy_. Not exactly the right word, but at least he feels something. It‘s been so long since Mike really cared for anything. Now he does, and that so unfamiliar wave of a wide range of emotions is accompanied by an urge to ask something of his friend. He is just not sure if it‘s safe.

 

„Will?“

 

„Yeah?“

 

„Eleven isn‘t real.“ Mike says slowly, as carefully as humanly possible. „Can you tell me?“

 

„I...“ Will gulps audibly. „The doctor told me not to bring it up.“

 

„You spoke to Barnes?“

 

„Yeah, on Thursday. Spent almost two hours on the phone with him.“

 

Mike looks into Will‘s eyes intently. He does realize how pleading his face probably has become. „Will, can you please just tell me? _Please!_ “

 

Will stares back into Mike‘s eyes, his own expression stern and serious. „They‘re not gonna let me visit again.“

 

„As if you like spending three hours in a car with my mom.“ Mike chuckles. „I just... think you got the right to say it and not end up stabbed, is all.“

 

The smaller teen turns to inspect the empty door frame warily. No one is here with them. The hall is empty, at least Mike can‘t hear anyone walking or talking out there. Mike can see it in his face, when he eventually relents.

 

„Okay. Okay, okay.“ Before he speaks, Will bites his lip for a few seconds. „Eleven isn‘t real.“

 

Mike has to stare. It‘s important, absolutely vital. He doesn‘t know what to feel when he finds nothing. No bizarre deformation of Will‘s face, no wrong features, no rubbery skin. The person sitting next to Mike isn‘t an agent. It‘s just Will, plain and simple. The same Will Mike has known for close to ten years. He never was and never will be anyone else.

 

Outside of Mike‘s window, where the heavy snowflakes are tumbling and swirling, the layer of clouds that blocks off the sky splits open, flooding the room with the bright orange light of an early-afternoon winter sun.

 

Is this stage five? _Acceptance?_ Somewhere in the depths of his mind, Mike understands it‘s not it. Will helped him with a giant leap, but he‘s not quite there yet. What has really changed is that Mike now has a reason to keep going. That _must_ be enough.

 

„Better?“ Will hums.

 

„I think. Still feel like I‘ve gone crazy.“

 

„Shame...“

 

„What?“ Mike inquires.

 

„Shame that I can‘t make myself go crazy too. Wouldn‘t you want to go crazy together?“

 

„Will...“ he huffs. „I love you. But that‘s really the dumbest thing you‘ve ever said.“

 

 

* * *

 

Mike‘s mom leaves the two of them to their own devices for two of the three hours they have for the visit. „Look at you two!“ she almost cheers when she finds them arm in arm with their backs turned towards her. They both turn around, and that seems to dampen her enthusiasm a bit. Mike obviously can‘t see his own face, but if he looks half as terrible as Will does, she has every reason to be worried.

 

It‘s okay, though. In fact, things have never been better for Mike since he came to this place. He tries to make his mom understand without words, and she gets it. The hour they have left turns out pleasant. Enough of the pain and the heavy topics, they talk about Christmas presents, which Karen assures her son are waiting for him at home.

 

They exchange some of the books Mike has already read for new ones that his mom brought from home. While he is at it, Mike props up the photo of him and the party, that he has kept lying on his desk until now. Maybe, just maybe, there is light at the end of the tunnel.

 

 

* * *

 

Mike is still feeling elated when he strolls down the hall to find someone to pass the time with until dinner. Saying goodbye to Will wasn‘t as difficult as he feared. Sure, Sybil threatened to pry them apart with a crowbar, but it was a joke. Eventually, they had to let go of each other, not without promising to exchange at least two letters every week from now on. Mike hopes, he can‘t know for sure, but he hopes that this means he can now count the days until his release. He isn‘t under too much illusions, Barnes will want to make sure he is healed entirely, but that can‘t take too long, can it?

 

It‘s really more of a coincidence than anything else that Mike stops in front of Christie‘s room. It‘s just this sudden feeling that there is something for him to do here. As it turns out, that feeling is correct. Her door is wide open, Mike finds her hunched over on her bed with her back turned. Up until now, he couldn‘t bring himself to care for the fact that she is never around for dinner on Saturdays.

 

„Hey.“

 

„Don‘t _‚hey‘_ me, turd.“ she hisses. „Fuck off.“

 

„No.“

 

„Is this some sort of joke?“ her head snaps around, revealing an expression of something like disgust, fear, resentment, which should be impossible all at once. But there she is, looking like she is on her deathbed in the presence of the most vile human being on earth. „Are you making fun of me?“

 

„No.“ Mike repeats, sitting down next to her. „Didn‘t your parents visit you for Christmas?“

 

„My parents!“ she snarls. „Which ones do you mean?“

 

„Your... parents.“ He has no idea what she is about.

 

„I‘ve had, like, ten of those, retard.“ Christie shoves at his shoulder once.

 

„What‘s that supposed to mean?“

 

„Foster parents!“ She slaps the back of his head as if he just doesn‘t get the obvious. „And no, they didn‘t come. They never do. Just... Mr Erhard.“

 

„Mr who?“

 

„God!“ Christie spits out. „I don‘t even know why I‘m telling you this. My useless piece of shit lawyer. It‘s official now, I‘m gonna stay here until I‘m eighteen.“

 

Mike doesn‘t like, no, he _hates_ the implications of that. „And after that?“ he inquires warily.

 

„What do you think? The streets of fucking Chicago. Seriously, Mike. Get lost.“

 

„No!“ Mike crosses his arms in front of his chest. „Not gonna happen.“ This is probably the closest he has ever gotten to actually get to know her. He‘ll be damned if he isn‘t curious. Christie‘s hands begin trembling in her lap, so she tries to play over it with wild gestures.

 

„Nothing you can do.“ she insists. „Nothing you _should_ do. You‘ve got your own shit to deal with, no matter what it is. Go have dinner. Get better, go home, hug your mommy and your turd-friends. Don‘t drink, don‘t do drugs, don‘t... ugh. Don‘t break your mom‘s nose and slit your wrists.“

 

„That what you did?“ Mike tries to imagine the scene. Christie swinging her fist at a middle-aged lady, sending her to the floor bleeding from her nose, before running off into the bathroom and- That‘s where he stops. He has seen the scars once or twice, he doesn‘t want to imagine them.

 

„She was my last foster mom.“ Christie shrugs. „Fucking bitch. Married to a son of a bitch. I‘m glad they don‘t want me back. Do I have to tell you again, or will you fuck off now?“

 

„Not before you tell me how I can help.“ Mike decides to act stubborn. Maybe it‘ll work, maybe she‘ll punch him. He thinks the latter would actually make him laugh in his current state. It doesn‘t come to that, though.

 

„Help?“ she cries out grinning, voice all high and hysteric. Mike doesn‘t miss how her bottom lip is quivering. „Would be better for you if you... you know what, forget it.“

 

„Okay, can we establish that I‘m not gonna fuck off, and that I‘m not gonna forget it?“ Mike sighs impatiently. „Tell me what you want me to do.“

 

„You‘re a piece of shit!“ Christie presses through her teeth, voice so threatening and full of bile, Mike should perhaps be scared. „I mean, look at you, coming here playing good Samaritan to boost your ego. Guess I was right, your dick must be tiny. Compensating much?“

 

Mike can almost picture the metaphorical light bulb appearing above his head. The similarities are just too striking. She can‘t hurt him like that. Not with such a dishonest but superficial attack. Now, she is made of glass, and Mike can see through her.

 

„Christie, you‘re a dumb bitch.“ he sighs. „But you can‘t get me to hate you.“

 

Over the course of the next thirty seconds, a lot of things happen. First, Christie shoves Mike off the bed. Then, her breathing becomes somewhat labored. Next, she jumps to her feet to shove him once more. Finally, Mike has to catch her when she collapses into herself.

 

He‘s not sure if he‘s going to make it for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say I'm gonna wrap this up in 70k words? I don't think this is realistic anymore. I'll try to get more movement into it, because I don't want it to become dull or watered down. There's so much ground left to cover!


	11. Jubilee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a bit longer than the last few chapters because I literally threw 3 drafts away because I hated them.

„There. All done.“

 

Mike eagerly takes the paper from Christie, who is now rotating the red crayon between her nimble fingers, making it do all kinds of crazy flicks in perfectly smooth motions. He eyes the results for a few seconds, just to frown at her. „You gotta be kidding me.“

 

„What? Want me to be nice, or honest? It‘s not as bad as it looks. I‘d say C plus.“

 

„C plus...“ Mike huffs disdainfully. „I should be at B plus. Or A.“

 

„Jesus, Mike!“ Christie looks like she is about to burst out laughing. „Cut yourself some slack. It‘s only natural to fall behind a bit if you turn into a disgusting slob for weeks on end. And look, you‘ve been careless more than anything. There!“ She leans across the table and points her index finger at the top of the page. „You understood the exercise, but then this; The result is supposed to be 1.56, not 15.6. No logical errors here, I think you just wanted to get it over with.“

 

„Shit.“

 

„No reason for frustration. You‘re not gonna fail this year, I can tell you that.“

 

„Guess I‘m gonna do it again, then.“ Mike is really grateful for this. During the weeks he hit his all-time low, he didn‘t get to do any school work whatsoever. It‘s really only thanks to Christie that now, a month later, he is pretty much back on track with everything, despite there being no teacher here aside from Mr Garcia, who is less of a help than Christie.

 

That is something Mike suspected almost from the beginning. Christie is an exceptional student, straight A almost everywhere. Mike‘s initial suspicion arose from the books she lent him on his first day. How many seventeen year olds read Robinson Crusoe? Turns out she reads Shakespeare as if it was comic books. So it‘s safe to say, what she is able to do and how she actually behaves seem to contradict. Ability and sickness constantly clashing, she is actually a good friend for the most part. On the days she isn‘t, Mike just opts to leave her alone.

 

„I think that‘s enough for today. You‘re already doing more than everyone else here combined. Day off tomorrow?“

 

„Why?“ Mike furrows his brows. „I gotta keep up.“

 

„It‘s gonna be your birthday, idiot.“ Christie runs her palm down her face. „Relax.“

 

Mike bites his lip. „I don‘t stay home from school on my birthdays.“

 

„But you do on Saturdays.“ she counters. „Do what you have to do, but I‘m not gonna help you tomorrow. Your people are gonna be visiting.“

 

Mike shrugs. Of course his mom is going to come, just as every Saturday. He isn‘t particularly excited about it, because really, there are more pleasant prospects than having to spend your fifteenth birthday at a mental hospital. Will or any other friend of his won‘t be able to come, that much is very clear. Mike doesn‘t know why, but this time Barnes didn‘t relent in that regard. Right now, there is something else on Mike‘s mind anyways though, something he is finally feeling confident enough asking about. The last weeks he really tried to get to know Christie, and now he figures, she isn‘t going to beat him up for it.

 

„Can I ask you something?“

 

„You just-“

 

„Something a bit personal.“ Mike goes on without paying attention to the old _‚You-just-did‘_ joke. That‘s probably older than his great-grandfather.

 

Christie takes a wary look around the table. No one really is in hearing distance, with everyone scattered across the room for their free time on this sunny but freezing cold Friday afternoon. „Can‘t promise you an answer.“

 

Well, if her not answering is the worst thing that can happen, Mike has to go for it. „What‘s wrong with you?“

 

„Excuse me?“ Her tone is really more amused than offended, but she loves drama more than anything.

 

„I mean... how come you‘re constantly trying to piss people off. Aren‘t you, like, too smart for that?“ Mike watches intently for her reaction. It‘s just something that‘s been puzzling him for a while.

 

„You think I‘m smart?“ she snorts. „Wow. I mean, I like calling you a retard, but I had no idea you actually are one.“

 

Mike doesn‘t take her insults too seriously anymore. Not only has she really cut back on that since Christmas, it‘s also the memory of her breakdown that always keeps on reminding Mike, she is actually pretty messed up in the head.

 

„Okay, cut the crap please.“ Mike firmly insists. „You spend hours on end helping me with this stuff. Your own grades are top notch. So, then what‘s with all the _‚There‘s no hope‘_ nonsense?“ Saying it out loud suddenly makes it seem somewhat ridiculous. Mike should know. He has been there just a month ago. Hope can make itself invisible if it wants to be a dick.

 

Christie all but deflates on the bench opposite to him. Leaning on her elbows, she lets out a long sigh. „Look... Mike... I‘m the type of person who reads Sartre, and the only message I get from it is _‚There is no god‘_. I can tell myself that‘s not what he was trying to say, but it doesn‘t change how I feel about it. So what if my grades are good? That won‘t help me when they kick me out on my birthday with a year of High School left to go and no place to sleep.“

 

„So you wanna tell me you‘re just being pessimistic. That‘s not gonna get you far.“

 

„I‘m stating the facts. Besides, what do you know?“ she chuckles. „You‘re a kid. Spare me that mature talk, okay?“

 

„I can‘t if you keep reminding me I‘m the mature one between the two of us. Do you even listen to yourself from time to time? _‚There is no god.‘_.“ Mike lets out a sarcastic laugh. „If there is no god, we‘re gonna have to figure out stuff on our own.“

 

Christie doesn‘t answer immediately, instead wearily rising to her feet. „Looks like you got Sartre better than I did.“ No, he didn‘t. Mike doesn‘t even know who that is. „Remember, we‘re taking the day off tomorrow.“ With that she leaves, perhaps for her room. Mike knows better than to follow her. Maybe, just maybe, he has managed to stir something up in there. He wouldn‘t bet on it, though.

 

While he goes over his Algebra exercises again, biting his lip at his own stupidity from time to time, he can‘t let the topic go mentally. Maybe he is just suffering from helper syndrome. That would explain a lot, actually. But he is determined to do something for Christie. Mike raises his eyes to find Sally looking at him curiously from the far side of the room. She is hugging her teddy bear tightly to her chest. The girl really loves that thing, and from the eye it‘s missing, Mike can see she has loved it for a while.

 

 _One teddy bear for each room._ The idea comes slow and gradually to him. At first it feels a bit frustrating, being able to reach for it, but not to grasp it quite yet. But then it clicks. There‘s going to be a fair bit of luck involved, and Mike might have to retort to a plan B. Trying won‘t hurt, though. From Christie‘s departure, Mike has learned one thing: Trying to talk her into hope for the future won‘t cut it. Maybe Sally can help.

 

He approaches the little girl cautiously. He keeps calling her that in his head, _little_ , though the fact of the matter is, she is only about two and a half years younger than him. Mike can‘t and doesn‘t want to imagine what happened to her that made her like this. Not even Christie knows. It can‘t be her parents, because it looks like Sally is stoked to see them every Saturday.

 

„Hey, Sal.“ he greets casually, dropping on the couch next to her. The girl smiles in silence, and he points at the bear. „A boy?“ Sally nods. „Does he have a name?“ Another nod. „But you won‘t tell me, right?“ Mike has to grin, which causes Sally to mirror his expression and giggle to herself. She shakes her head, holding the bear in front of her chest, making it wave at Mike.

 

„Hi there, mister.“ he hums. „Sal?“ Sally turns her full attention back to Mike upon hearing his serious tone. „They‘re real super heroes, aren‘t they? I mean, the bears.“ Her eyes grow wide, she frantically nods in agreement. „Mine has helped me a lot.“ He won‘t ever admit that to anyone else. „But you know what I think? I think Christie needs a lot of help. More help than her own super hero can give her.“ Suddenly, Sally is avoiding his gaze, sad eyes staring at the floor. She gets it.

 

„I know...“ Mike sighs. „Maybe, if you would allow your bear to help, they could get through to her. Will you let him do that? Let him team up with Christie‘s teddy? I‘d only have to borrow him for a few hours tomorrow, and you‘d get him back in the afternoon.“

 

Sally holds the worn out bear up to her face for a moment or two, likely processing what Mike is asking of her. Finally, she nods.

 

„That means you‘re a super hero too.“ he gives her a small hug. „Can you promise not to tell Christie about this? It has to be a surprise.“ Sally nods once more. „Pinky swear?“ Mike holds out his pinky to her, prompting Sally to immediately pick up on it and entangle her way smaller finger with his.

 

He stays there with her, still pondering about his plan. Taking matters into his own hands. He shouldn‘t be forced to do this. Mike has learned a lot of things in the past three months. One of his major realizations is, the doctors around here don‘t know their patients as well as they think they do. This doesn‘t go for Doctor Barnes, but certainly for the other psychiatrists. Someone should have noticed. They should have noticed Sally comes out of her shell when she‘s with Christie. They should have noticed Christie is even further from fine than they think.

 

Perhaps there is just something about doctors that prevents them to look deeper, or pay enough attention to detail. At some point, they all learn they can treat an infection with antibiotics on virtually every patient. One approved method, that‘s all it takes. Mike hasn‘t yet had the pleasure of going to med school or university, but he is fairly certain that it doesn‘t work that way in psychiatry. If it did, he could very well be dead by now, or at least still in the same terrible condition that made him a murderous maniac. But Doctor Barnes is different, thankfully.

 

 

* * *

 

Saturday. Just another Saturday. Except, it‘s not. This Saturday, January 25th, is Mike‘s fifteenth birthday. When all of this started, and Mike came to the realization that he would in fact spend this birthday in here, he was terrified. Now it‘s okay. It‘s not home, not by a long shot, but he isn‘t a stranger around here anymore. There are other new guys, replacing those who have been released, and with that knowledge comes something like serenity. Even in here he is part of a group, an established member.

 

Besides, Mike‘s thoughts don‘t really revolve around himself and his birthday this morning. After all, it‘s also the day he is going to execute his plan.

 

„For-“

 

„No!“ Mike hasn‘t even set his tablet down at the table, when he has to cut Christie off.

 

„For-“ she starts again, but Mike won‘t have it.

 

„I said no!“ he half-laughs, half-grunts. „You‘re not gonna sing. Don‘t force me to cut your tongue out.“

 

„Fine.“ The older girl crosses her arms in front of her chest. „Happy birthday, I guess.“

 

„Y-yeah, h-happy birthd-d-day.“ Pete shakes Mike‘s hand firmly. That‘s more like it. A handshake, a short congratulation, no fuzz or hassle. Mike ends up shaking quite a few hands, every one of them gets his spirits up a bit.

 

„You‘re still getting your birthday song.“

 

„Christie, don‘t. Seriousl-“

 

„Lawrence!“

 

Just like he always does, Lawrence turns around, his eyes widen as he looks over to them and sings „ _You are a dirty ol‘ man._ “

 

 _What?_ Mouth suddenly agape, Mike shifts his gaze between him and Christie. Obviously, it‘s not the perfect vibrato in Lawrence‘s voice that leaves him so dumbstruck. He quickly gets that this isn‘t Christie‘s doing, when he finds her face with the same expression of awe. Then the laughter starts. At least two people along the table spit their cereal into someone else‘s face, Pete chokes on his apple, Mike has trouble keeping himself upright from how his stomach cramps.

 

„There... jeez... there you have it!“ Christie shrieks. „Ol‘ man Mike! Keep your hands to yourself!“

 

„D-does he know thi-things?“ Pete gasps, trying to regain some control over himself.

 

„You mean stuff that he shouldn‘t know?“ Mike has wondered that before. He doesn‘t get an answer to his question.

 

 

* * *

 

Mike, strolling down the empty corridor, can‘t help going over his plan again and again. It‘s not particularly elaborate, and in the end it‘s all gonna be up to Christie. He can give her a push in the right direction, that‘s all. After that it‘s gonna be about luck, and about whether or not she decides to bite the hand that feeds. He likes to tell himself this place has changed her in that regard. God, Mike hopes it has.

 

Sally‘s door is closed but unlocked when he reaches her empty room. She owns quite a few books too, but these are all for children. Colorful, with pictures and probably huge letters. The hospital issued teddy bear isn‘t her only stuffed animal either. Judging from its condition, though, it is one of her favorites. Mike stares at it for a while, before finally shrugging. She agreed to this. Nothing is going to happen to him.

 

On his way out he stops momentarily at the sight of a framed photo. Sally looks younger in it, maybe one or two years. It shows her with two adults, her parents, the three of them assembled around a large chocolate cake, wide smiles stretching out on their faces. Mike counts ten candles. _They look like good people_ he thinks to himself, ‚abducting‘ Sally‘s teddy bear.

 

 

* * *

 

Usually Mike waits for his mom sitting down on his bed or by his desk. Not today, though. He is pacing the room almost frantically, either looking at the clock, or at the latest letter from Will, that he has already read ten times over. It still causes him a small pang, the way its tear stained letters tell him that Chester, the Byers‘ dog, had to be put down on Tuesday.

 

Things seem to be going well in Hawkins otherwise. Maybe they aren‘t, but Mike‘s friends are just careful to tell him only the pleasant bits. If that‘s the case, Will has certainly broken that rule. Mike wrote a reply immediately, of course. He liked that dog a great deal.

 

„It‘s over here.“ he can hear a voice outside in the hall at around 1PM. It‘s his mom talking. „Right there, number 22.“ Two sets of footsteps are approaching. Who is she with? It can‘t be one of Mike‘s friends, that‘s established. The next few seconds are spent anxiously waiting, but then Mike wants to laugh.

 

„Dad?“ He bites his lip. Mike didn‘t want this to come out like a question. As if he doesn‘t recognize his own father. Ted Wheeler remains standing in the door frame, effectively blocking the way in for his wife.

 

„Ted...“ she groans from behind him. He remains silent, brows furrowing in between his glasses and his perfectly American haircut. „Ted... Theodore!“

 

„Oh...“ He takes a step into the room with a slight start. „Sorry, honey.“

 

Huffing in annoyance, Mike‘s mom walks past him, to close her arms around Mike. „Happy birthday, sweetie.“ she coos.

 

„Thanks, mom.“ Mike can‘t really keep his eyes off his dad, probably grinning in a shakily awkward way. However, nothing Mike does could ever be as awkward as his dad approaching him, all stiff and robotic.

 

„Well... happy birthday, son. I... uh... we‘ve missed you.“ And that‘s how it always is between them. One hug on Mike‘s birthday, once a year, every year for as long as Mike can remember. It‘s even funny how his dad can‘t even say _‚I‘ve missed you‘_. Mike doesn‘t blame him, he‘s not angry with him, or even disappointed. Ted Wheeler is just inhibited in some ways, really the same as Mike‘s grandfather.

 

„Thanks, dad.“

 

„You‘ve... you‘ve grown.“ dad states bluntly.

 

„Yeah.“ Mike really has. Through the obligatory weekly medical exams, he has been keeping good track of that. He has grown three and a half inches since October.

 

„Your voice-“

 

„I know.“ Mike follows his gaze when Ted turns to look at his wife, who is standing there, eyes narrowed, making the impression of greatest impatience. „Wanna sit down?“

 

„We‘ve just spent three hours-“ Mike‘s dad stops abruptly at the sharp sound of Karen dropping a book on the desk. „Sure, son.“ They do just that, taking place next to each other on the slim bed with Mike‘s mom remaining in the background for now. „How have you been holding up?“

 

Mike has to think for a moment. How _has_ he been holding up? Not too bad in the last four weeks. „I‘m good.“ he says. „This place isn‘t as bad as it looks.“

 

Dad lets his eyes wander across the room. „Looks pretty bad to me.“ That‘s not something he would normally say, not by a long shot, and Mike really doesn‘t know what to make of this honesty he is presented with. It‘s still stiff and awkward, but primarily it‘s painfully amusing to watch and listen to his father trying to somehow come out of his shell.

 

Mike shrugs. „I‘ve spent three months here. Might as well be home.“ His words aren‘t entirely true, because while Mike can‘t really imagine anything else by now, this still isn‘t a comfortable place for him. Truth be told, he doesn‘t want to be here, even if it‘s gotten easier.

 

A flicker of emotion, hard to interpret, crosses dad‘s face. He takes his glasses off, puts them over in the windowsill, before he grabs at his own nose right between his eyes. „Michael, listen, I‘m... I should have come earlier. There‘s no excuse-“

 

„Hold on a second.“ Mike really can‘t have him apologize for that. „I told mom it‘s okay if you don‘t come.“

 

„And since when do I take orders from you?“ Mike stares. His dad stares back. „That was supposed a joke.“ Ted finally mutters.

 

„I know.“ Mike doesn‘t exactly feel like laughing. „It‘s okay, dad.“

 

„Good. That‘s... that‘s good.“ He lets out a long breath that indicates both relief and regret. It‘s just too weird seeing him like this, fighting himself to be open and honest. It only gets weirder when he decides to pat Mike on the shoulder, only to pull his hand back as if he was burned, before hesitantly coming back to it. Mike can feel the hand resting on his shoulder get heavier as time goes on and his father slowly relaxes his arm. „We‘re, I mean your mother, you and I, are going to talk to your doctor today. Did he tell you about this?“

 

This comes as a complete surprise to Mike. So far, he has never seen Barnes around on a Saturday. But if he really wants to talk to Mike and his parents, that can only mean one thing, can it? „Do you think they‘re letting me out?“

 

„Honey.“ Mike‘s mom chimes in. „I think it‘s best if you don‘t get your hopes up just yet. It can‘t be that much longer, but we don‘t know what this is about yet.“

 

Mike doesn‘t say it, because that would really get his hopes up, but objectively thinking it can only be about his progress and release. As far as he knows, Barnes has never discussed anything concerning medication or therapy procedures with his parents. His dose of Thorazine has been decreased once more without Barnes telling them.

 

„How long do we have?“ he asks, peeking over at his clock.

 

„We‘re scheduled for 2:30.“ Mike is relieved at those words. Almost one and a half hours left. That‘s way, _way_ more than he needs. Sally‘s parents are probably here by now. That means it‘s time for him to spring into action.

 

„Hey, mom, dad? I gotta do something real quick. Can you wait here. It‘ll be five minutes max, I swear.“

 

„Sure, honey. What‘s this about?“ Mike‘s mom raises her eyebrows in interest. He is already on his way out to the hall.

 

„Can‘t tell you. Maybe later, I don‘t know.“ Mike says over his shoulder, leaving them maybe a bit dumbstruck. That‘s not important, though. They don‘t need to know everything, and there is no way Mike is going to get himself in trouble with this. He walks down the corridor hastily, slowing down in front of Sally‘s room to see her in the company of her parents. _Perfect_. He makes his way to Christie‘s room, but slows down before he reaches the door. _Acting_ , he thinks to himself.

 

Biting hit lip, he knocks on the window in the metal door. „Yeah?“ comes Christie‘s voice, muffled and hardly audible. He pulls the door open. _Acting_! Mike finds Christie sprawled on her bed, an unlabeled book in hand.

 

„Hey.“ he says casually. „Got a bit of a problem. Sally‘s missing her- oh!“ Mike fake-freezes at the sight of Sally‘s teddy bear resting on top of Christina‘s shelf, where her own bear should be sitting. It takes all his willpower not to grin. „There it is, thank god.“

 

„She‘s missing what?“ Christie slams the book shut.

 

„Her teddy bear.“ Mike shrugs, pointing at the shelf. „Looks like she left it here. Listen, I gotta go, the doc wants to talk to me and my parents. Could you bring it back?“ It‘s an outright lie, he is still more than an hour away from his appointment.

 

„Her... uhm... parents are here, right? Can‘t you bring it over?“ Christie takes the worn out bear down, looking like she is contemplating what to do now.

 

„I think so. I think she‘s really desperate for it, though. I‘m in a hurry, just get over with it.“ Those last words Mike shouts at her from the hall, where he now pretends to hurry away from her room, around a corner. It is there that he stops and peers back, trying to stay hidden. It takes a moment for Christie to emerge from her room, but when she does, trotting i the direction of Sally‘s room lazily, Mike sneaks out to follow her. It‘s a risk, but he wants to listen and see if it works.

 

He has always been good at that, nimble and lightweight as he is. His recent growth spurt momentarily reduced his dexterity, but it‘s back now after using PE to run in circles long enough to get used to his new, way longer limbs. Christie doesn‘t notice him, as she hesitantly steps through Sally‘s open door. Mike stays in hearing distance.

 

„Sorry, didn‘t mean to interrupt.“ she quickly apologizes. „Just bringing Sally her teddy back. You must have left it at my place, Sal.“

 

Nothing happens for a few seconds, but then, to Mike‘s satisfaction, a small shriek comes from a female voice that isn‘t Christie‘s.

 

„Uh... I better get going.“

 

„No, wait!“ Sally‘s mother sounds mildly desperate. „What‘s your name?“

 

„I... I-“ A wide grin spreads across Mike‘s face, hearing Christie that uncomfortable. „Christina.“ she finally gets out. „Spencer.“

 

„A-and...“ Sally‘s mother goes on shakily. „Did Sally just... just _talk_ to you?“

 

„She doesn‘t talk to you?“ Christie‘s retorts, absolutely puzzled. That‘s enough. Mike‘s job is done here, and from now on it‘s really up to Christie to make the best out of this.

 

 

* * *

 

Mike enters the doctor‘s office first with all the confidence he has built up towards this place so far. He remembers a time when he dreaded his talks with Doctor Barnes, back when they left him as a mess of tears and pain. Not anymore, though. Mike actually likes the doctors. He isn‘t one of those people who talk down to their patients, and he certainly never treated Mike as if he was a maniac.

 

Mike‘s parents follow him, both new to this office. At least, Mike has no knowledge of his mom ever being here. It‘s somewhat stuffed now, because, while the room isn‘t particularly large, Barnes has prepared three chairs for them in front of his desk. The doctor himself is behind it, rising up to greet them. He shakes Mike‘s hand first.

 

„Michael, happy birthday. Mr and Mrs Wheeler, welcome. It‘s good to see you here. Please, have a seat.“

 

Mike‘s parents sit down to either side of him, while the doctor returns to his typewriter for a few more moments. A fancy one, electric, so it never jams. Unlike the old mechanical typewriter Mike uses for his campaigns and short stories at home. The document seems to be about finished, as Barnes pops it out, and smiles at the three of them.

 

„This...“ He points at the paper. „...is your progress report for this month, Michael. That‘s why I wanted to talk to you. You‘re on a good way, as far as I can see. No hallucinations, breakdowns, or suicidal thoughts in a month.“

 

Mentioning Mike‘s dark thoughts of the early December weeks coaxes a reaction from both his parents. Mike‘s mom takes hold of his hand, while his dad lets his hand rest on Mike‘s shoulder once more. Acknowledging the supportive gestures with a gentle nod, Barnes goes on talking. „Now, I could talk to you all day about you being better and all that, but I think you know best how you‘re feeling. From what I can see, I think it‘s time to work towards your release from now on.“ Mike‘s breath catches in his throat, but he doesn‘t get a chance to speak just yet. „Please keep in mind, the court ordered a full year of therapy for you. But there‘s good news. Here, take a look for yourself.“ The doctor slides the paper across the table for Mike to pick it up. „Skip right to the bottom.“

 

Both his parents read along, when Mike words the doctor‘s writing. „The above mentioned reasons lead me to the conclusion, that, in order to ensure optimal reintegration into school and a social environment, a release date between 03/15 and 04/15 is desirable. Given the patient‘s premature release, outpatient therapy would continue until 10/15.“ He‘s got trouble keeping his voice steady at the prospect of what this report suggests. Ted Wheeler remains mostly unmoved, maybe he tightens his grip on Mike‘s shoulder, but Mike‘s mom is outright gasping, more than once, which is all but comical.

 

„Do you understand what this means?“ Barnes leans over to take the paper from Mike again. He quickly signs it by hand, before pressing a stamp on the bottom right of the page.

 

„I could... get out in March?“

 

„Or early April, yes. But I need you to understand, this isn‘t a promise, it‘s a suggestion to the court. We can‘t be sure the judge is going to agree.“

 

„I need a copy of that.“ Mike‘s dad cuts in. „Our family lawyer will want to look over it.“

 

„I‘ll arrange that.“ Barnes promises. „The odds are in our favor, Michael, I can tell you that. However, if the judge agrees, there‘s a catch to it that we have to talk about. You would be an outpatient until October. Now, I can‘t transfer you to a therapist in your area, meaning you would actually have to come back here every other week on Saturday for an evaluation. Would you agree to that?“ The man doesn‘t only watch Mike, but also his parents.

 

„Absolutely.“ Mike‘s mom answers without hesitation. Mike nods. Why would Barnes even think he could object to that? Coming back every second Saturday for a few hours would be a small price to pay.

 

„As long as I get to go home-“

 

„If you get to go home.“ the doctor corrects him. „I can‘t promise you anything right now, but I wouldn‘t have suggested your release if I deemed you unfit for that.“

 

„It‘s still gonna be at least two months.“ Mike deflates a bit thinking of how he promised Will he‘d be home for his birthday. There‘s a chance for that, but it‘s not a definitive thing. Under the circumstances, this must be sufficient. What‘s important is, an end is in sight. _Might be in sight_.

 

 

* * *

 

The elated feeling that is rushing through Mike‘s veins as he leads the way back to his room increases tenfold up to a level of mild euphoria, when he steals a glance into Sally‘s room to find her wrapped around Christie, who is still quietly conversing with the younger girl‘s parents. No reason to disturb them right now. Christie may or may not give him shit for this later, but what does it matter?

 

„So...“ his dad says slowly as they walk back into Mike‘s room. Nothing follows, though.

 

„So... what?“ Mike inquires.

 

„I thought you could tell me.“ In a way, this is mildly offending. Ted quickly does a U-turn with his words, though. „I‘m sorry, Michael. I don‘t think I‘m wasting my time here.“

 

Mike‘s eyes meet those of his mother for just a second. Similar to himself, she shoes some signs of pity, that Mike‘s dad luckily doesn‘t get. For a long time Mike has wondered how it would feel to reconcile with his father. Then again, they never were exactly in dispute with each other. More like, for a long time, there wasn‘t anything at all between them.

 

Situations like these aren‘t foreign to Mike. They usually come in the form of an awkward silence, for whatever reason. For instance when the teacher is late, the entire class is chattering, but every individual group stops talking in the same exact moment. It‘s best to just voice what you are thinking when that happens.

 

„Dad, you‘re being awkward.“ Mike could swear he can sense his mom mentally applauding him for this, because his dad‘s shoulders slump a bit at his words.

 

„I know.“ he sighs. „I‘ve just been wanting to tell you something.“

 

„Okay... I mean, go ahead.“ Whatever he has to say, it can‘t be that bad. Usually, bad news are presented to Mike with a certain sense of indifference from his dad‘s side, that just isn‘t there right now. It‘s more like being outspoken like that causes Ted Wheeler serious pain. He takes his time to overthink his words.

 

„When your friend William was missing, I think I should have... done more. You just locked yourself in and I-“

 

„We, Ted. Don‘t take this all on yourself.“ Mike‘s mom interrupts.

 

„Alright. _We_ were wrong back then.“ This time, he really looks into Mike‘s eyes, and that‘s weird enough as it is. „We thought you needed time, and that you‘d come out if you wanted to talk.“

 

„And you think you could have prevented all this?“ Mike suggests. „Do you think that‘s gonna get you very far?“

 

„I...“ His father gawks dumbfounded. „What?“

 

Mike, on the other hand, knows exactly what this is about. It‘s something he has experienced, something nearly everyone he knows around here has experienced, and talked about in therapy. „Seriously.“ he huffs, looking between mom and dad. „Does that keep you awake at night?“

 

„Of course, honey, that‘s-“ His mom doesn‘t get to finish, because Mike has to suppress laughter, tinged with pity. Does she really think that‘s what he wants to hear?

 

„Learning from mistakes is one thing.“ he eventually cites Doctor Noble from group therapy, word by word. „Pondering over what could have been keeps us trapped in the past, and drags us down, sometimes to the point of apathy.“ Mike allows them some time to let that sink. „I don‘t remember that week. And I really have no idea if you‘ve made a mistake.“ he eventually shrugs. „I‘m here right now, and you can‘t change that. You‘re not doing anything wrong right now. So... I guess if you could just bake a cake when I get home, I‘ll be fine.“

 

As fine as he can get, anyways. Mike keeps going back to thinking about it for the rest of the afternoon, that is spent with more or less light conversation. He misses El, and according to Doctor Barnes, he is likely going to miss her for the rest of his life. Mike can accept that she was a figment of his imagination and live with it. But really just in the same way he is eventually going to have to live without his mom and dad. People experience loss. It‘s unavoidable. The sun is shining again, though, both literally and figuratively.

 

 

* * *

 

Mike is about to groan at the fact that Christie isn‘t there for dinner. For a brief moment it really looks like he somehow has failed. Only, he eventually rejoices at the sight of Sally‘s empty spot at the bench. She is nowhere to be seen either. But Pete is there, and he can read minds, as it seems.

 

„S-something happened.“ he all but whispers to Mike, as if it was a terrible secret. „I think they‘re e-e-eating together in Christie‘s r-room.“

 

„Looks like it.“ Mike smirks. „Have you seen one of them this afternoon?“

 

„Christie.“ Pete confirms. „Sh-sh-she hugged me. Weird, r-right?“

 

„But she didn‘t say anything?“

 

„N-no.“

 

Mike really can‘t believe his luck. So many things could have gone wrong. Christie could have recognized the teddy on her shelf as Sally‘s right away upon entering her room, and brought it back before the younger girl‘s parents were there. Sally‘s parents could have just ignored their daughter talking to Christie. Christie could have flipped them off and left.

 

„H-hey. What‘s so f-f-funny?“

 

„What?“ Mike snaps out of his thoughts. „Nothing... nothing... I was just thinking. I could get out soon, you know. I mean, not really soon. But in March.“

 

Pete nods understandingly, smiling himself. „I‘m g-gonna be out on M-March 7th. G-gonna be six m-m-months then.“

 

„And... uh...“ Mike doesn‘t know if this goes too far. „Do you think you‘ll manage?“

 

Pete doesn‘t seem to take offense in that, admittedly, private question. He still has to think about it, though. „I‘ll be o-okay, I g-g-guess. I mean, I d-don‘t have a lot of f-f-f- _shit!_ “ His stutter becomes so painfully strong for a brief moment, that Mike all but cringes. „I don‘t h-have a lot of f-f-friends at home. But I‘m b-better.“

 

„Better as in _‚no suicidal thoughts‘_.“ Mike wants to make that clear. „I‘ve had these too, y‘know.“

 

„It‘s sh-sh-shit, isn‘t it? Thinking ab-b-bout that stuff.“

 

It makes Mike stare at his hands for a few seconds. „Yeah. Shit.“ he mutters, before turning back to Pete. „Hey, where do you live?“

 

„S-small town in Wisconsin. J-J-Johnson Creek.“ Pete shrugs. „Why?“

 

„Just thought we could stay in contact. Like, talk on the phone, write letters or something.“

 

„L-L-Letters.“ Pete smirks. „I l-like letters. Ph-phones, not s-so much.“

 

„Yeah.“ Mike‘s smile is only slightly pained, because he understands. But really, this day keeps getting better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few things I want to tell you about this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> 1\. I kinda tried to get across how oblivious psychiatrists often are (or were, because in the 80s things were WAY worse in that regard). I think we have to keep in mind, this takes place just 30 years after psychiatrists lobotomized hyperactive children. That shit isn't made up. Really, if I had set this in the 50s, Mike would end up a mindless zombie, or get wrecked by Insulin shock therapy. 
> 
> 2\. Why are we always depicting Ted Wheeler as the ultimate fuck up for a father? I mean, I'm guilty of that too in my oneshot series. I really think he didn't get enough screen time to really judge that. I think he just seems to be a bit on the gullible side. Kids are gonna handle their own problems, right? Uncle Sam will protect them. I still think he's not too dumb or uncaring to realize his responsibility at some point.
> 
> 3\. 2 more chapters will be set at the hospital. After that, it's back home to Hawkins for Mike. It's a bit of a spoiler, but I wanted to tell you because it might get you excited. We're moving forwards here.
> 
> 4\. I don't tell you enough how much I love all your comments. Keep on theorizing, please! But don't expect me to tell you what's gonna happen next, or how I'm gonna conclude this fic. We're far away from a conclusion anyways.
> 
> 5\. Lawrence's song is 'Dirty ol' man' by The Three Degrees.


	12. So Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter. But a happy one, if you ask me.

Mike still has some time left until breakfast. He has woken up early today, maybe out of anxiousness. It is, after all. March 3rd, and that means Doctor Barnes is going to have a decision for him today. Is Mike going to be released within the next couple of weeks? It‘s a good day, the weather looks just perfect. Too perfect to be still locked in here. Well, at least the nurses now open up the windows again regularly, letting that blissful fresh air full of oxygen flood in. Mike can‘t wait for that.

 

There is still something left to do for him. With a heavy sigh, he sits down on the round stool to go over some letters again. Four letters from Will, that are noticeably different. Usually, his best friend‘s letters are works of art in their own right, sometimes more skillful doodles than words. These not so much, though. They are rather plain, with lots of spelling errors, and when Mike holds them under his nose, he has to roll his eyes fondly. The paper is still reeking of disinfectant. Seriously, Will could have just told him.

 

Only the most recent letter managed to clear up what was going on. It‘s not flu-season, but Will caught a particularly sever one, that even left him hospitalized for a night because his mom couldn‘t manage to get his fever down. In an attempt not to concern Mike too much, Will just kept on writing letters as if nothing had happened.

 

Now, that the truth is out, and Will is better, Mike can‘t really think of a good reply that doesn‘t sound too reproachful. The blank white paper in front of him inspires him, though. No need to be serious about this, he is pretty sure they‘re going to have a good laugh about everything soon. Hopefully soon. Mike sets down his blue crayon and begins scribbling.

 

_Will,_

_I‘m glad you‘re better. But you should have told me. And please, never send letters to a hospital when you‘re sick with the flu. They‘re going to arrest you for biological warfare one of these days, like they almost did with Dustin when he farted at the movie theater. I‘m-_

 

But Mike stops there. No, he‘s not going to write a lengthy letter right now, not before he knows if they‘re going to let him go home soon. Even if Will is going to learn about it long before this letter makes it home to Hawkins, Mike wants to tell his friends himself. He contemplates writing to Dustin, Lucas or Max as well, but decides against it for now. Today he‘s got nothing to say that he can‘t relay through Will. Whatever is going to happen, the whole party has to know.

 

 

* * *

 

Mike‘s leg is bobbing up and down. Up and down, up and down, faster and faster, the soft sole of his white slippers only produces a dampened _thud_ on the linoleum floor. As the pace quickens, one could mistake it for the sound of a machine gun somewhere far away.

 

_Square root. What‘s a square root again? Holy shit!_

 

„ _You say you stand by your man!_ “

 

_How can Mike figure this out? He should know how it works! He should-_

 

„ _You say you stand by your man!_ “

 

Mike sighs, throwing the crayon on to the gray table top hard enough for it to break in two. „I can‘t do this right now.“ he grunts to no one in particular, just to voice his frustration. How is he supposed to bridge that time between now and the moment of truth? The fact that Barnes has invited him for an appointment before lunch today doesn‘t lessen the tension.

 

„I-I can‘t either.“ Pete agrees, perhaps for different reasons. He is going to be released on Friday. „A b-break won‘t h-h-hurt.“ He deliberately breaks his own crayon in two, grinning widely. „It‘s ab-b-bout your talk with the d-d-doc today?“

 

„I‘m gonna learn if I get out or...“ Mike‘s entire mind becomes heavy at the thought. „...if I have to stay until October.“

 

„Okay, what can we-“ Christie interjects, but doesn‘t get to finish due to Lawrence‘s singing.

 

„ _You say you stand by your man!_ “ he almost shouts for the tenth or twentieth time today. Something seems to upset him, but no one does anything about it. Mike has learned, the nurses only step in when the dark-skinned boy starts thrashing his arms around. As long as he is just loud, they can‘t be bothered. Besides, no one knows for sure what helps him anyways. Mike knows the song just too well, it‘s one of Will‘s favorites.

 

Christie pauses to make sure she‘s not interrupted again. „What can we do?“

 

„Nothing.“ Mike shrugs immediately. „The decision has been made. I‘m just waiting for Barnes to tell me.“

 

„Yeah, but, like, emotional support maybe?“

 

He hunches over the table slightly, shaking his head. „The waiting is driving me crazy. Just... talk, okay. I mean-“

 

„ _You say you stand by your man!_ “

 

„Oh my god!“ Mike slams his fist down on the table hard enough for some people to flinch around them. „Can you make him stop?“

 

„ _You say you stand by your man!_ “

 

It‘s torture, pure, repetitive torture. Mike has to progress. He can‘t hear that line anymore. _Not again!_ Because he just can‘t help himself any other way, he sings back „ _Tell me something I don‘t understand!_ “

 

Lawrence‘s previously blurred eyes widen, his giant pupils rest on Mike. „ _You said you love me and that‘s a fact!_ “ he suddenly goes on. Christie, who is just in the process of chugging a cup of water, almost chokes on it.

 

„What the fuck?“ she coughs.

 

Mike, equally stunned, decides to proceed. „ _And then you left me, said you felt trapped!_ “

 

„ _Well some things you can‘t explain away. But the heartache‘s with me till this day!“_ At that point, Lawrence just stops. Mike has never seen him smile before, let alone grin, showing his straight line of perfectly white teeth. He even produces something that resembles a chuckle when he returns to staring at his hands.

 

Christie, after being silent for quite a long time, utters „Holy crap, Mike. Holy crap. What did you do?“

 

„I... I got fed up.“ he responds in utter disbelief. „Happened to know the song.“

 

„S-should we tell someone?“ Pete asks under his breath. „Like, a d-doctor or a n-n-nurse.“

 

Mike thinks they should. They absolutely should. Right now they seem to have found a way of calming the boy, but they can‘t take it from here. Neither of them is a therapist, and Mike honestly has no idea what to make of Lawrence‘s reaction. He isn‘t even sure if he has done a good thing. A smile from Lawrence could mean something completely different than a smile from a healthy person.

 

Someone has to know about this, though. Over in the little separated area from where the patients receive their meals and pills, Mike finds Nurse Lime, leaned back, feet on the table next to his coffee mug, buried behind some car magazine. „Hey, sorry to interrupt.“ He knocks on the counter that separates them. Lime jerks slightly, but then turns to smile at Mike.

 

„Hey. You‘re good, right?“

 

 _Right_ , Mike thinks. „Listen, it‘s about Lawrence.“

 

„What about him?“ The nurse doesn‘t make an attempt at getting up, looking relaxed as ever.

 

„It‘s kinda weird. You know how he always sings these lines from songs, _right_?“

 

„Right.“ Lime nods. „He‘s not freaking out, right?“

 

„That‘s not it.“ Mike tries to explain. „He was kinda restless, and it really got on my nerves so I kinda started singing the song, and then he... like... he started singing too. Not just the line he picked for today, he really went on with the song.“

 

The man furrows his brows. „Okay.“ He then continues to stare at Mike, as if he is expecting something, some more information, that Mike frankly doesn‘t have. „O-oh!“ he shouts eventually. „Might wanna write that down for some doctor, right?“

 

„Right...“ Mike sighs, watching him grab for a notebook, almost toppling over with his chair in the process. Where is Sybil when you need her?

 

 

* * *

 

Mike thinks back to that moment two hours later, when Sybil squeezes his shoulder, to stop him from anxiously pacing from one side of the hall to the other. He looks down to her gratefully. _Down_ , he thinks, _that‘s right_. Mike is now slightly taller than her, just as she predicted back on his first day.

 

„You don‘t know what the judge said?“

 

„Sorry.“ she apologizes. „I‘d tell you if I knew. Must be hard.“

 

Mike snorts. „Hard. Yeah. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.“ He scowls at the closed door to Doctor Barnes‘ office. Does he really have to be late _today?_ He never was before, so why now? It‘s not fair, leaving Mike hanging mid-air like this. He feels like Schrödinger‘s Maniac. Both healed and fit to go home, and completely broken and required to stay until October at the same time, until he learns his true fate.

 

But then finally, he is there. Barnes comes rushing down the corridor, leather briefcase dangling from his left hand. His sparse hair is standing up in every direction, the Chicago wind seems to have gotten the better of him. „Sorry! Sorry!“ he apologizes hastily, reaching for his pocket. The briefcase drops to the floor, and he produces his clattering key chain. „Not that one...“ Barnes mutters. „Not that one...“ The third key he tries finally opens the door, but it slams shut again, leaving Mike, Sybil, as well as the doctor‘s briefcase out in the hall in silence.

 

„What‘s going on?“ Mike picks up the briefcase. „Anything wrong?“

 

„I... I don‘t know.“ Sybil gasps. „Stress, maybe? I mean-“

 

The door to Barnes‘ office flies open again, revealing the doctor now in his long white lab coat over the green checkered shirt. He has fixed his hair already. „Michael!“ he greets. „Thank you!“

 

„For... uh...“

 

Barnes takes the briefcase from Mike‘s hands. „Please, come in, have a seat.“ Mike does just that, leaving Sybil in the hallway, not without noticing her encouraging expression. It makes him feel like a little kid, but he really wants to hold her hand right now. His heart comes close to exploding, even the few seconds Barnes takes to cross the room and drop down in his chair are too much for him to bear.

 

„Doctor, could-“

 

„Yes!“ Barnes exclaims. „I‘m making it short, no dramatic effect, it‘s a _yes_.“

 

„ _Yes._ “ Mike repeats. „ _Yes?_ “

 

„Exactly.“ Barnes confirms, though Mike doesn‘t know what that‘s supposed to mean. „The judge said yes. You‘re out. I mean, you will be.“

 

 _Oh no!_ Did Mike just crap his pants? Turns out, he didn‘t. It was dangerously close, though. All of a sudden, gallons and gallons of delicious air flood his lungs. „When?“ he squeaks weakly.

 

„March 21st.“

 

Okay, this time it was _really_ close. _March 21st!_ „I get to-“ Mike chokes. „I get to-“

 

„You get to... what?“ Barnes smiles curiously.

 

Mike mentally scolds himself for the tears that are picking on his eyes. The days of him crying in this office should be over. „My friend Will‘s birthday is on March 22nd.“

 

„Well, consider yourself lucky.“ The doctor leans forwards, and backpedals a bit. „Although, I‘d say you have to thank your own determination for this.“

 

„My determination?“ Mike‘s voice reflects his lightheartedness. „I was a mess.“

 

„You‘re not anymore. And if there‘s anything I‘ve learned in the 35 years I have worked in this field, then it‘s that, we, as psychiatrists, don‘t stand a chance if our patients aren‘t determined to heal.“

 

He nods once. „Do my parents know?“

 

„They will be notified by mail. The letter should arrive today, but since it‘s only 10...“

 

„...they probably don‘t have it yet.“ Mike completes.

 

„Well, if I were you, I‘d call home. There will be a few things we have to discuss concerning how to proceed with everything. We‘re going to do that on your release day.“ Barnes states. „I‘m in a hurry today, really, so I think we can end this right here. Or is there anything you want to tell me that can‘t wait until our next appointment on Thursday?“

 

„Not that... not that I would know. Still processing the news.“

 

„I bet. Well, you better get going then. Maybe you really get a chance to break the news to your mother.“

 

Grinning, Mike all but darts towards the door, but pauses and turns back, because he simply has to say „Thanks, doctor.“ He finds Sybil still outside in the hall. Mike doesn‘t take the time to wonder why she is still here, or if she doesn‘t have anything better to do than wait for him. He feels the need to hug someone, and so he does, just for a second. Sybil hugs him back. „Three weeks!“ he croaks. „Then I‘m out. I... gotta call my parents.“

 

„Want to do it now?“

 

„Right now.“ Mike approves. „Maybe they don‘t know yet.“

 

„Good thing I waited here for you.“ she chuckles. „Follow me, come on. Better be quick so you can tell them the good news before anyone else does.“ The way from the doctor‘s office to the phone room is only a few steps down the hall in the direction of the patients‘ rooms. As hard as it is to admit for a Dungeon Master, Mike is still having trouble orienting in here without looking at the little labels next to the doors. His own room he would find blindfolded, but the ones he rarely visits, like the phone room. are a different story. Everything, _everything_ looks the same. Same walls, same gray metal doors, no windows in the halls, just doors to either side.

 

As per usual, Sybil takes her seat behind the desk and dials for Mike. He knows the ordeal. She is going to make sure Mike actually talks to whoever he intended to call, she is going to stay, she is going to listen. The only exception from that rule would be a call to or from Mike‘s lawyer, whose name Mike doesn‘t even know. His parents deal with these things, and as it looks now, the family lawyer won‘t come into play anyways.

 

The phone is rather loud, so Mike can hear it beeping. Sybil makes it quick when Mike‘s mom picks up. „Good morning Karen, Sybil Pears from Saint Bernard Hospital Chicago. Michael would like to talk to you.“ She holds the phone out to Mike. „Go ahead.“ she mouths.

 

Mike‘s hands begin shaking only slightly, the grin he is trying to suppress springs onto his face. „Mom! Hi.“ he greets.

 

„Michael, I didn‘t think I‘d hear from you again so soon. Is everything okay?“ his mom‘s voice comes crackling through the old phone.

 

„Don‘t worry, I‘m fine. Just wanted to ask something. Have you... have you gotten any mail today?“

 

„N-no.“ she sounds a bit unsure as to what this is about. „Not yet. Anything I should know.“

 

Mike‘s face is close to hurting from the way his muscles pull his mouth from ear to ear. „Oh, it‘s nothing.“ he says casually. „I mean, yeah, I‘m getting out in three weeks, but-“

 

_Crack!_

 

„Mom?“ No response. „I think she‘s dropped the phone.“ Mike gawks at Sybil.

 

„Michael?“ Karen Wheeler is back on the phone, now as frantic as during Mike‘s first call home so many months ago. „S-say that again? Please?“

 

„Okay.“ Mike shrugs, barely able to keep his laughter down. „I‘m coming home. March 21st.“ Again, there is nothing that could come back through the phone line. „Mom? Are you alright?“

 

„No... I mean... I‘m good.“ mom sniffs. „I think I‘ll have to sit... sit...“

 

„Mom, don‘t pass out!“

 

„All good.“ she eventually sighs. „Sorry. Michael, that‘s wonderful! And just in time for Nancy‘s spring break! And Holly! She always asks about you. I‘m buying you new clothes today, you‘ve grown so much. We have to prepare so much, I-“

 

Before she can further talk herself into a frantic rush, Mike cuts in. „Mom, we have three weeks to prepare and figure things out. Two more Saturdays. Don‘t stress yourself about this, okay?“

 

Something between a sob and laughter punches Mike‘s ear through the phone. „You‘re right. It‘s just... I can‘t wait to have you back at the dinner table with us, or... or even have your friends around the house. And it‘s always been so quiet at night without your snoring. I‘ve-“

 

„I‘m snoring?“ Mike cracks up. „Jeez, thanks for telling me. My friends never did.“

 

„Maybe because they‘re all snoring like freight trains. Save for William.“

 

That is about true. Will doesn‘t snore. Dustin, Lucas, and ever Max more than make up for that, though. Up until now, Mike considered himself more alike with Will in that regard. „Mom, listen, I‘m gonna have to hang up. You‘re gonna get some official release papers in the mail. Probably today.“

 

„Well... okay, honey.“ She gives him a heavy sigh. „I‘ll see you on Saturday then. Stay out of trouble.“

 

„What trouble, in here?“

 

„It‘s just something moms like to say. Love you.“

 

„Love you too, mom.“ Mike hangs up, because he knows she won‘t do it. Not in a million years is she ever going to hang up first when on the phone with him.

 

 

* * *

 

_Will,_

_I‘m glad you‘re better. But you should have told me. And please, never send letters to a hospital when you‘re sick with the flu. They‘re going to arrest you for biological warfare one of these days, like they almost did with Dustin when he farted at the movie theater. I‘m-_

 

Mike looks over the start of that letter again. He has a few minutes left until Lunch, and this is going to be a short letter, so he decides to finish it real quick. The first thing he does is scrap the start of that unfinished sentence, instead starting a new paragraph.

 

_I‘m getting out! The day before your birthday! It‘s not a joke, I‘ll be back in 3 weeks! They want me to come back for an update every other weekend, but that‘s fine with me. I can‘t wait to try out all those new ideas I‘ve written down in a new campaign. Things around here are still pretty much the same otherwise. Food still sucks, sometimes it‘s boring, but now I‘m counting down the days. Tell everyone I can‘t wait to see them. Okay, it‘s lunchtime now, and I‘ll send this letter right away. See you soon. Funny, right? I always end my letters like that. But now it‘s true. SEE YOU SOON._

_Mike_

 

That looks good. Mike folds the two pages neatly, and stuffs them in an empty envelope. One more thing he can‘t wait to have back. A proper pen. Writing with crayons absolutely sucks. Everything turns out twice as large as it should be, or absolutely unreadable. With a real ball pen or pencil Mike would have needed only one page. Being forced to use a crayon, Mike‘s short stories and D&D ideas make up a massive pile on his desk. At home he is going to have to copy these by hand or typewriter. Even that manages to make him laugh in delight now. _Soon! So soon!_

 

Mike then all but skips towards the wall-mounted mailbox where patients are allowed to drop their letters off. Sliding the envelopes in is always a satisfying experience somehow. Now, it is time for lunch. Coming back into the multi-functional room for everything, it really begins to sink in. Five months. Almost half a year. Mike hasn‘t seen most of his friends, his sisters, his teachers, his own home _that long_. It‘s a lifetime that went by in what felt like two lifetimes. But it‘s going to end.

 

„Hey.“ Christie doesn‘t look up from her newspaper, the Chicago Tribune. Five copies come in each day for the patients to read, and while Mike has only taken to do that in the last few months, she has always been interested, from what he can tell. „Good news?“ How can she tell he is grinning like an idiot if she doesn‘t even look at him? Doesn‘t matter.

 

„I‘m getting out. Three weeks.“

 

„Sit down.“ she lightly pats the couch she is sitting on. „Lunch is gonna be late, some problem in the kitchen.“ Mike does just that. „Okay.“ Christie lays down the newspaper. „I‘m only gonna say this once, because I‘m really not good with this emotional mumbo-jumbo. Mike-“

 

„Are you gonna propose?“ he jokes. „Jeez, you should have told you to put on a fancy dress at least.“

 

„Shut up or I kick your balls.“ She waits a few seconds to see if he complies. Mike does. „Mike, I think you‘re the best thing that‘s ever happened to this place. At least in the time I‘ve been here. You're gonna make it out there, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And I‘m glad we‘re friends.“ Especially the last words are more mumbled than anything. „Now I‘m gonna throw up, and we can have lunch, okay?“ She really tries to get up, but Mike pulls her back and hugs her closely. Truth be told, he wants to hug everyone right now. Christie is stiff at first, but eventually relaxes, and drapes her arms around Mike as well.

 

„Hey, when we‘re done, could we meet in your room? Or my room, I don‘t really care. I mean, not just the two of us. Sally, Lawrence and Pete too. Uh... by the way how is Lawrence?“

 

„Hey, Lawrence!“ Christie shouts over. Mike finds the boy sitting in a corner, calm and still a bit apathetic, but smiling at them. He doesn‘t sing, or really say anything, instead just laughing, shaking his head. „That‘s about all he‘s done since you did... whatever you did.“

 

„That‘s good, isn‘t it? Or do you think I broke him?“

 

„He‘s fine. Totally fine.“ Christie assures him. „So, what‘s this about?“

 

Mike bites his lip. „I wanna tell you guys why I‘m here. I think you deserve to know.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lawrence's song is 'Train in Vain' by The Clash.
> 
> Are you guys excited? I am, because the next chapter is gonna see Mike's release from the loony bin. Holy crap, I never thought we'd be 55+k words in at this point! I still love this fic as much as I did on day one. Just as much as I love your comments, I can't tell you that enough.


	13. The End of Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lordy, here I go splitting another chapter again because it's just becoming too damn long.  
> Seriously, I don't think I want any 10k word chapters in this story. You're gonna get the rest of it tomorrow, I promise. It's just really turning out bigger than I though. Again. And again. And again. Love y'all and your comments!

It is finally here. As it turns out, counting down the days isn‘t an effective means of shortening a time period. Quite the opposite, it makes time drag on ever so slowly, similar to these endless hours spent at school when Mike can‘t help but look at his watch in five-minute intervals. But that is over now, because now it‘s only a matter of two hours, and there are still a few things to take care of. For example, those letters. Mike hasn‘t counted them, but the amount is absolutely unreal, and he isn‘t planning on leaving them here or throwing them away. So, Sybil has arranged for him to get a plastic bag in which to transport them, which, strictly speaking, is against hospital regulations. He could pull that over his head and suffocate. Whatever, they both know there is no real danger.

 

Mike rather carelessly drops hands full of handwritten letters into the bag. These also include the two letters he has gotten from Pete so far, after his release two weeks ago. Mike wonders if he is going to find time for anything else but writing letters at home. He is at least going to write Pete, Sally and Christie. Lawrence, well, Mike isn‘t sure if he can even read. It doesn‘t look like he can write.

 

Next are the books. There isn‘t a single one left from the first Saturday Mike‘s mom visited him here. All of them have been exchanged at some point. Actually, it‘s no use piling them up on the desk. They are going to stuff them in a bag later on when his mom arrives. But it‘s good to have something to do. Still, that only makes for a two-minute distraction at best. Then, Mike just has to look over his room again. His home for close to half a year. The place he spent ten hours a night locked up in. Tonight is going to be different. Mike is going to be able to go wherever he wants, even after 9PM, and that‘s scary enough as it is.

 

Mildly scary is also the prospect of the needle that is waiting for Mike. Maybe Sybil shouldn‘t have told him in advance they need another blood sample to make sure he can proceed with the medication at home. And, of course, she is already here, knocking on the open door frame. „Michael? Ready for your last checkup.“

 

„As ready as I can get.“ he shrugs. „Let‘s get it over with.“ Sybil lets Mike lead the way through the corridors he is saying goodbye to today. Two hours, and then it‘s going to be two weeks before he sees them again. Not an eternity, but a somewhat uncharted future. He has no idea what is going to happen, for the first time in half a year Mike doesn‘t know what he is going to wake up to in the morning.

 

The examination room is still the same as the day he woke up in here for the first time, and Mike already knows the drill, sitting down on the raised stretcher while Sybil whips out the stethoscope, as well as the device used to determine blood pressure. Mike didn‘t know the name on his first day, sphygmomanometer. Sure, you can call is blood pressure meter, but where is the fun in that?

 

She inflates it around his arm, then watches and listens intently for a few seconds. „120 over 75. I thought you‘d be nervous.“

 

„I am. I guess just not that way.“

 

„Hm...“ Sybil shakes her head, pressing down on Mike‘s wrist. „Your pulse is still way over 100. I‘d call that excitement.“ After taking the necessary notes, she goes on almost businesslike. „Shirt up.“ The stethoscope is cold only for a few seconds, and Sybil looks satisfied. Nothing wrong here. „Okay. Your choice. Height and weight first, or blood sample?“

 

Mike doesn‘t have to think long. „Lollipop would be nice.“

 

„That‘s a reward.“ Sybil laughs, shaking her head. „For being brave enough to chose blood sample first.“

 

„Oh.“ Mike raises an eyebrow, a move he decided to perfect after seeing that old Dracula movie with Bela Lugosi. „Looks like I don‘t have a choice then. Let‘s just... get it over with.“ Trying not to prolong the wait any longer, he lies down on his back compliantly, pulls up his sleeve, and lets her do whatever she has to do. The sting is small, the sound of blood trickling into a glass test tube makes him mildly sick, but it‘s over soon enough, and the promised lollipop is already waiting for him. For both of them, actually, because Sybil likes to reward herself with that too.

 

„5 foot 10, 135 pounds. Same as last week.“ she notes after having Mike step on the scale and taking his height. „You could still put on some weight, but if I had to guess I‘d say that won‘t happen any time soon. 5 foot 10 isn‘t going to be the end for you.“

 

„As long as I don‘t end up tripping over my own feet again...“ Mike huffs, making her laugh again.

 

„That‘s nothing you can avoid when your limbs are growing faster than your brain can adapt. Give is two or three years and none if that will matter anymore. Okay. We‘re done here. I‘ll check if your mom is here.“

 

„It‘s not 1.“

 

„And it‘s not Saturday either. We‘re not dependent on visiting hours today.“ It‘s a mild déjà vu experience for Mike when Sybil picks up the phone and dials two numbers. „David? Yes, could you check if Mrs Wheeler is here? Really? You can send her up then. Thank you.“ It looks like she wants to hang up, but something happens that keeps her from doing so. „God, David!“ she groans. „It‘s been only two hours, you‘re being-... yeah, around 8 tonight. Love you too.“ Only then she hangs up, to notice Mike‘s wide grin with a fake-disapproving glance „Who told you you could listen?“

 

„Don‘t make it look like you‘re the victim here. I don‘t want to hear these things. So... my mom is here.“

 

„She‘s on her way. The doctor has already arrived too, so we‘re not gonna waste any more time.“

 

There is a small pang to that, that Mike has to address. „Will I get a chance to say goodbye?“

 

„To the others?“ she clarifies. „Sure, when everything‘s done, you can drop by. I‘d say that will be some time after lunch. They‘re all gonna miss you.“

 

„I‘m gonna miss them too.“ Mike says truthfully. „But, I mean, I‘m gonna come back. Just not to live here. Sounds weird, right? I mean, I shouldn‘t be glad I‘m gonna have to come back.“

 

„Don‘t see it like that. You‘re looking forward to it because you‘re friends. That‘s... that‘s important. There‘s only so much we can do for you in here.“ Sybil then huffs in annoyance. „Sometimes I think there‘s only so much the bosses are _willing_ to do for you. We‘re still trying to get an outside area for this station. God knows there‘s enough space.“

 

Mike knows what she is about. In the time he has been here, the only fresh air he has ever gotten was through open windows. It‘s still not a prison, but in that one regard, prisons in this country seem to actually have an advantage. _Outside!_ He will be going outside soon. No ceiling, just wide open sky.

 

A knock on the door, but reminiscent of Mike‘s first night in this room, his mom doesn‘t wait for a reply before barging in. „Michael!“ she squeals, looking utterly exhausted. „It‘s okay. We‘re going home. Yeah, we‘re going home.“ In all honesty, Mike thinks the is saying this more to herself than to anyone else. She always hugs him when she is here, but this time he really has to stop her, before she breaks all his bones. Mike pushes her away as gently as he possibly can, to let her shake hands with Sybil and take a look at what she is carrying with her.

 

„I brought you shoes and something to wear. We had to replace your entire wardrobe. Here.“ With more enthusiasm than Mike has ever seen on his mom, she hands him a white bag with what he suspects are folded clothes, as well as the pair of dark sneakers. Aside from that she is carrying her giant duffel bag to transport his books with.

 

„You can get dressed in here.“ Sybil turns to Mike. „Just leave the hospital clothes and slippers on the stretcher, someone will pick those up later.“ Then, facing his mom, she suggests „We can wait in the hall, Karen.“

 

„Yeah. Sure.“ Mike‘s mom begins wringing her hands only for a few seconds, as Sybil very gently pushes her towards the door. Looking over her shoulder, as if Mike could disappear into thin air any second, her face makes it clear, she can‘t really believe this is happening. But it is. Mike tries at a reassuring smile, shaking the bag with his clothes. Then the door clicks, and he is alone.

 

Raising the bag up above the stretcher, he empties is right there. His eyes rest on the pants she has brought. „Corduroys... really?“ Mike mumbles to himself, with the faint hope she has actually bought him jeans too. The rest isn‘t too bad; black underwear, a white T-shirt, a fairly simple checkered button-down in dark shades of green, and finally black socks. He can live with that, as long as she doesn‘t ask him to tug the shirt in.

 

Mike start on his white hospital shirt, pushing it off of himself, only to replace it with the white T-shirt. It makes him inhale sharply, because, while it‘s not drastically different, it‘s still just that much tighter. Not too small, it just doesn‘t hang off of him like an old bag. His pants and gray hospital shorts have to go next, and this time Mike is better prepared for the absolutely weird sensation of different clothes. Everything suddenly just... _fits_. After five months, that‘s not a small thing. After that, it‘s slippers, socks, socks, sneakers, and finally the button down.

 

 _Oh wow_ , Mike thinks to himself. Walking like this is nothing short of crazy. Mike might as well be wrapped and sealed in plastic foil. The pants, the shirt, everything kind of spans in places where there was nothing, literally seconds ago. Looking down on himself, Mike is trying really hard to remember if it has always been like this with fitting clothes on. Will he ever get used to this again? Of course he will. But he will also miss his hospital clothes for at least a few days, he reckons.

 

There is going to be a reaction from both, his mom and Sybil. Painfully aware that both are going to comment, Mike pulls the heavy door open, to be greeted by light chuckling.

 

„...and, I swear, he threw everything up right in the middle of the kitchen, and then... Michael!“ That‘s his mother speaking, and the way both are laughing immediately makes Mike understand what‘s going on.

 

„You‘re never gonna let me live this down.“ he groans. „I was five, mom!“

 

„You were.“ she huffs back. „But even a five year old should know better than to chug down a pint of warm chocolate frosting.“

 

„And whose fault is it if a five year old doesn‘t know?“ Mike narrows his eyes playfully, only to find hers finally scanning his freshly dressed state, until they begin to water.

 

„We‘re going home.“ she suddenly whispers. „You look so good, honey.“

 

„Are you comfortable?“ Sybil asks from behind her. „You look a bit tense.“

 

„Feels weird.“ Mike has to admit. „I‘m gonna get used to it. Mom... uh... you didn‘t just buy Corduroys?“

 

That snaps Karen Wheeler out of her stirred up state, making her roll her slightly red eyes instead. „There are three pairs of jeans waiting for you at home. You‘re getting your Space Wars shirts, your sweatpants, all that. I just wanted you to look good today.“ She lovingly tugs at Mike‘s slightly crumpled shirt to straighten it out. „You‘re not going to-“

 

„No, I‘m not gonna tug it in.“ he insists. „So...“ Mike, trying to change the topic, turns to Sybil. „What‘s next?“

 

„The doctor.“ she answers. „You can see him right away.“

 

 

* * *

 

Turns out, _right away_ , actually means twenty minutes later, because Barnes is nowhere to be found for a while. But that‘s totally fine, Mike and his mom don‘t have to waste the time, given that they have to pack pretty much everything from his room. The letters, the massive amount of books, the photos, everything has to come with, of course.

 

Mike eyes the teddy bear for a while. Looking at it like that brings back memories, a lot of unpleasant ones. Mike‘s entire body convulsing with violent sobs back in November shortly before he hit his all-time low. But not only that, in brings back memories of the minimum of comfort this stuffed bear was able to provide. Not to mention the unparalleled job his brother did for Christie. So, it ends up in Mike‘s bag too, and while his mom certainly watches him skeptically as he stuffs it in, she doesn‘t comment on it.

 

„Michael? Karen? The doctor is ready to see you.“ Sybil appears in the door frame.

 

„Right on time.“ Mike‘s mom claps her hands, and he feels just as eager to get it over with and go home as she does. They follow Sybil on the short walk to Barnes‘ office, just around a corner and down the hall. The door is wide open, and because the doctor is looking at them, inviting them with a gesture, they pare themselves the knocking.

 

„Would you close the door please? Thank you.“ Again, he has arranged for chairs to be brought in so they can face him from in front of his desk. „Michael, Mrs Wheeler, well... this is it.“

 

„It really is, isn‘t it?“ Even with his bags packed and new clothe on, Mike still has to let it sink. It is just so surreal. He‘s going to step _outside_ soon.

 

„I see you have already prepared. Everything is packed, yes?“

 

„We‘ve just finished packing.“ Mike‘s mom confirms.

 

„Then I don‘t want to hold you up any longer than necessary. First things first, Mrs Wheeler, I need you to sign this paper and confirm that we‘re releasing Michael back into your custody.“ He reaches over with his arm to hand her a clipboard with a ball pen attached to it. She reads for a moment, then signs, and hands it back over to the doctor. The man, in turn, slides a carbon copy of the paper out from underneath. „Your copy.“ Mike doesn‘t know what to think of this. It‘s like she has just signed a receipt for him.

 

„Now that that‘s out of the way, we have to talk about a few things.“ Barnes lays his glasses down on the desk. „Further treatment. That‘s one thing. I have mentioned it before, you‘ll have to come back every other week for an appointment. Specifically, 2PM on Saturdays, starting two weeks from now, ending in October, according to the court order. I know it‘s a major inconvenience, but-“

 

„Totally acceptable.“ mom says quickly. „We‘ll be here.“

 

„Good.“ The doctor smiles at her reassuringly, before turning back to Mike, again not talking _about_ him, but _to_ him. „On these occasions you will also get your supply of pills that you will continue to take until October. We will decrease the dose gradually to avoid symptoms of withdrawal. Now, that means no alcohol, no drugs whatsoever for the duration of your outpatient therapy. You‘d just be putting yourself in danger. But I‘d advise you against that regardless of medication.“

 

These words have Mike‘s mom in absolute shock, which really is comical more than anything else. „Alcohol? Drugs? Michael, what‘s that-“

 

Mike doesn‘t get to answer, as Barnes is quicker. „That doesn‘t mean anything, Mrs Wheeler. Michael has never abused any substances, this is merely a safety reminder. And, frankly a matter of responsibility. I‘m sorry if it sounds cruel, but I have to say these things, otherwise I could be held accountable for damages.“

 

„I get it.“ Mike shrugs. „It‘s okay, I‘m not drinking, I don‘t do drugs, I‘ll be fine. Uhm... about the medication. Do I have to take the pills at 7 in the morning? I mean, I kinda like to sleep in on the weekends.“

 

„Not a problem at all. Delay the time an hour a day until you have reached the desired time, it doesn‘t really matter. Just do it gradually. Should you ever forget about it for a day, don‘t take twice the amount to make up for it.“

 

„Understood.“

 

„Very well. I also have to make it very clear that you that you are obliged to continue medication. I could, hypothetically speaking, order a blood test to check on this. And, to be perfectly clear, I can take you back into our care if I see you endangering yourself or others.“ Barnes seriously looks uncomfortable thinking about this, and that is some solace for Mike.

 

„I won‘t give you a reason.“ he solemnly promises.

 

It seems to be what the doctor wanted to hear; he relaxes his posture a bit. „Good. Now, the immediate future. It‘s Friday, but I think you need more than a weekend to get settled back in. I want you to stay home from school for another week. You‘ve been doing well enough in that regard to allow for that.“

 

„I guess.“ Mike is somehow relieved he won‘t have to get back out there right away. A few days at home could be a relief. „I mean, I‘m not at risk of failing this year.“ His mom squeezes his arm tightly, the pride in her eyes unconcealed.

 

„I know. There is one more thing I want you to do.“ Barnes pulls out a drawer, scrambles around in it, before producing a small, black notebook. „Take this, use it as your diary. Just write down a few sentences each day, what you‘ve done, how you‘ve felt about it. Bring it to our appointments.“

 

„Okay.“ Mike takes the empty book. „I could have bought one myself.“ he chuckles lightly.

 

„Well, you don‘t have to now.“ the doctor replies. „Mrs Wheeler, I would ask you not to read in this diary. You might be tempted, but please understand, this is off limits.“

 

„I would never.“ She shakes her head almost defensively.

 

Mike skips through the blank white pages for no particular reason. „If... if anything happens. Like, more hallucinations, if I... what do I do?“

 

„Look in the back of the book.“

 

Mike skips right to the last page, where a printed paper is glued in, that shows several phone numbers, along with time frames specified for each one. „What‘s that?“

 

„These are phone numbers you can call in an emergency, besides 911. You should place them somewhere in the house. Hang them on the fridge, for example. You, your parents, your friends, everyone will find help there in case things go wrong for you. But, speak of the devil. I‘m fairly confident they won‘t be necessary.“

 

„Still good to have them.“ Mike‘s mom cuts in. „I‘ll make sure everyone knows what they‘re for. Maybe you should memorize them, or keep a note on you so you can call from school if you have to.“

 

„Well, taking safety precautions is never wrong. But please, don‘t get too worked up over this. I wouldn‘t release you if I didn‘t consider you ready for the outside world. Try to go on with your life, go back into your routines, be it school, free time with your friends and family, club activities, and allow yourself time to reflect.“ Doctor Barnes lets all of the information sink for a little while. Eventually, he claps both hands down on the desk. „This is it.“ he repeats his phrasing from earlier. „The end. How are you, Michael?“

 

Of course, he had to end with that question. Mike smirks only slightly. Six months ago, he probably would have just said _‚I‘m good‘_. But he has learned to pay attention to what he is really feeling, and to be honest about it. „Nervous... scared... excited... I kinda feel like crying.“ But he won‘t cry right now, because that urge is constantly being wiped by his anxious grinning.

 

„That‘s good. A wide range of emotions you weren‘t even capable of for a time. Keep observing your own state of mind, write everything down, and you‘ll make it through these next couple of months. Well...“ Barnes gets up, and holds his hand out to Mike. „There‘s nothing else to say than goodbye. I wish you the best of luck out there, Michael. You were a very pleasant patient to work with, and I‘ll see you in two weeks.“ Mike and his mom both get up as well, he is the first to shake Barnes‘ hand.

 

„Pleasant patient?“ Mike has to question. „I tried to kill you. I mean, I literally told you I wanted to kill you.“

 

Barnes does a somewhat uncoordinated gesture with his hand. „Not the first time that‘s happened to me, and it won‘t be the last time. Well, you better get going. Remember to pick up your supply of Thorazine. Have a good two weeks.“

 

„Thanks, doctor.“ Mike takes a deep breath. He isn‘t good at these things. „I mean... for everything.“

 

It‘s good that Barnes doesn‘t make the situation uncomfortable by giving him a pointless reply. Everything is said and done, and Mike lets his mom guide him outside. The door clicks shut, Sybil isn‘t here anymore.

 

„Mom?“

 

„What is it, honey?“

 

„Could you... sorry, could you let go of me. I really have to talk to some people before we go.“

 

 

* * *

 

„Jesus Christ!“ Christie shouts. Mike has just come up behind her, and jumped over the couch to end up sitting right next to her. „This is a mental hospital! You can‘t do that in here! Look at yourself. All dressed up and ready for a fancy dinner party with Ronald Reagan, the Mad Hatter and Ronald McDonald .“

 

„The Mad Hatter? Your new boyfriend? I think that guy better stays in here with the other maniacs. Just wanted to make sure you remember me.“ He grins widely at her.

 

„As if I could forget Moody Mike. _Murderous Mike_. Besides, you‘re just a maniac on probation.“

 

Mike shouldn‘t laugh, but he does. She has really taken the knowledge of his problems better than he would have thought, and joking about it is another form of relief from the guilt. „Careful, I might end up stabbing you.“

 

„No, you won‘t. You‘re gonna make it through life without ever stabbing anyone again.“

 

It‘s from this moment that Mike seriously has to bite back his tears, but that‘s alright, Christie looks like she is doing the same. „Nice of you to say that.“ he sniffs. „I‘m still not gonna kiss your ass, as charming as you may be. _Charming Christie_. That‘s your nickname. Live with it.“

 

„And you‘ll make sure to let everyone know right? But seriously, if anyone here got to kiss someone‘s ass, it‘s me. But I guess you won‘t let me.“ Christie makes a mock attempt at getting to Mike‘s behind, but lets him wrestle her out of it rather quickly. „I‘m gonna miss you. Miss you already, to be honest.“

 

„Same.“ He lets her wrap her arms around him. „I‘ll check up on you whenever I‘m here. The others too.“

 

„Reminds me.“ Christie pulls back from the embrace, and looks over the room. „Sal, get over here!“

 

Of course, Mike wouldn‘t have forgotten to say goodbye to the younger girl. She practically jumps at him, making it increasingly hard not to cry like a little baby. „Gonna miss you too. Stick to Charming Christie, okay?“

 

Sally nods, and from the side, Christie‘s arms snake around the both of them. „Funny that you mention it. I wanted to save it for last. They‘re letting her out in four weeks time.“

 

„Really?“ Mike is absolutely stunned at that.

 

„Yeah. Her parents want to try a local therapist, now that they know... well... that I... Jeez, this is hard.“ She visibly struggles with herself telling Mike this, but more out of pure excitement. „All thanks to you.“

 

„Hey, what‘s going on here?“

 

„Richard and Hannah. Sal‘s parents. They‘re trying to get me out too.“ Christie finally brings out. „It could take a while, the state of Illinois is a beast of bureaucracy, but yeah. Maybe I‘ll have to wait until my birthday in September, when they‘d let me go anyways. But I‘ll have a place to stay for my last year of high school. And Sally, well, she‘ll have...“

 

Letting go of Mike, Sally darts over at Christie, and it‘s pretty clear she won‘t let her go anytime soon. Mike wants to say something. Maybe, that all this isn‘t really thanks to him, that Christie would have made it anyways, but perhaps it‘s just time to pat himself on the shoulder for once. Or to let Christie kiss him on the cheek, with a few final words of goodbye to both girls. All three are really on the verge of tears, so they decide to end it. Neither of them wants to end up bawling today. They‘re gonna meet again very soon, so eventually, Mike wanders off.

 

He comes across Lawrence, who is sitting in a corner on the floor, legs folded in front of himself. Mike has never seen him as active as he is right now. It looks like he is laying down rows of poker cards, but in no particular order. As soon as he notices Mike sitting down opposite to him, though, he scrambles to collect all four Queens and hand them over, with a shout of „ _Homeward bound. Wish I was homeward bound._ “

 

„Uh... thanks, Lawrence. Sorry, I don‘t know how that song goes on.“ Mike takes the worn out playing cards, looks at them from both sides. There is nothing to be seen here, except the faded paintings of ladies with crowns in colorful medieval looking clothes. Four Queens. He lays them down on the floor with the other cards, which seem to be discarded for the moment.

 

A sudden motion happens, right when Mike isn‘t looking. Lawrence is suddenly gripping him by the upper arms, not hard or forceful, but it stuns Mike enough not to immediately try to get away. „ _We don‘t need no thoughts control_.“ Lawrence sings, and that‘s really weird. He has never done two songs a day, or the same song twice, for that matter. Mike remembers as if it was yesterday, his first day with the patients. It was the same song.

 

„ _No dark sarcasm in the classroom?_ “ he suggests. He really expects Lawrence to answer, but instead, he laughs. He doesn‘t just chuckle, no, he laughs out loud, shaking his head as if Mike had just told him he is going to live in a tent on the moon with Andy Kaufman. And after that, there is no way Mike can get any reaction out of him. „I‘ll see you soon.“ he mumbles, getting up from the hard linoleum floor. He knows he is going to memorize the pattern of ugly colors on it forever.

 

Now it‘s only Sybil who is left. Mike finds her behind the glass of the separated room for nurses on duty, where she doesn‘t remain long when he approaches. It‘s visible in her face that she is a bit at a loss for words. Mike has seen this before in the past months. She always sheds a few tears when a patient is released, and that is just another reason why everyone here loves her.

 

Mike has no idea what to say either. Something in the lines of _‚Thank you for dragging my ass out of my room when I was about to starve myself to death‘_ , or _‚Thank you for staying, even though I couldn‘t show how much I needed that at the time‘_. Mike chokes out a simple „Thank you.“, hoping it can carry the rest.

 

Sybil‘s arms close around him. „You‘re gonna make it.“ she says matter-of-factly. „See you in two weeks.“

 

„Two weeks.“ Mike confirms.

 

He lets go of her, to let her hand him a bottle of pills nonchalantly. „You always get a few more than you need in case you drop one. The doctor told you not to exceed your dose?“

 

„Yeah.“

 

Mike takes the pills, and Sybil waits a few seconds before she ends with „Goodbye, Michael.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this satisfies.
> 
> Today Lawrence gives us two wonderful renditions of absolute classics!  
> 'Homeward Bound' by Simon & Garfunkel  
> 'Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2' by Pink Floyd (again)
> 
> Next chapter will be out in the next couple of days.


	14. A Place Called Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess it's good I split this. It really would have turned out 10k words otherwise.

Mike has never seen any other part of the hospital than the few corridors and rooms he was confined to for half a year, save for the staircase that leads down to the gym. It‘s not spectacular, that‘s really his impression of everything. He and his mom descend the broad stairs together, coming across glass doors that lead to corridors he swears he has seen before. Every floor seems to be laid out exactly the same, dull and depressing if you don‘t know the people.

 

Yeah, it‘s the people who make this a place you can at least call a substitute for home. But Mike is about to leave that substitute for his real home. He feels like he is leaving part of himself behind, and maybe that‘s for the better. Maybe he wants a part of himself to stay with his newfound friends.

 

His mom can read minds. „You‘re going to stay in contact with some of these people?“

 

„Yeah.“ Mike confirms. „I‘ve made friends here. You‘re not... you‘re not judging, right?“

 

„Judging what?“ First, she chuckles slightly, but Mike can see the realization on her face without having to explain any further. „Judging mental illness. Or whatever problems these kids are dealing with.“ she nods in understanding. „I‘m not. _We‘re_ not. Your dad and I. I mean, how hypocritical would that be?“

 

„Not trying to accuse. The president cut funds for mental health care a few years ago, y‘know.“

 

„And your father probably cheered and thanked god for the insightful Mr Reagan.“ she sighs. „I just thank god I don‘t have to tell him what I vote. Am I really talking politics with my fifteen year old?“

 

„Looks like it. That‘s what happens when you got too much time to read, I guess. Just saying, I‘m not gonna vote Bush if he decides to run.“

 

„Stop right there.“ The way she laughs makes Mike smile. „You‘re scaring me with all this grown-up talk. Just don‘t take it personally if your dad votes Bush, okay? He‘s going to. But, Michael, he‘s really trying to... to get it. To get you and Holly. You should have seen him with your sister lately.“

 

„Mom, I‘m not making this about the two of us. I‘m really not gonna start a war about politics at home. Can we leave it at that?“ Mike really thinks he has taken this far enough with just these few words. He‘ll never try to divide his family in any way.

 

„I think it‘s a good time and place to end this, yeah.“

 

„What‘s that supposed to mean?“

 

She doesn‘t have to say it. Without Mike really noticing, they have reached the front door, the wide, heavy glass portal to the outside world. He gulps, just standing there, watching it as if the doorknob could jump right in his face at any moment. The world behind the glass looks way too bright. Way too large.

 

„Do you want to?“ she asks, pointing at the shiny round object. „Or do you want me to?“

 

„I think I‘m gonna do it.“ Mike spies over his shoulder once, to see a completely disinterested receptionist behind a long, polished counter. He really has just walked past the bubblegum chewing woman in her mid-thirties without noticing her. But looking at her is just comforting distraction, and Mike doesn‘t want that right now. He wants to pull the door open.

 

 _Oh wow_. It‘s easy, easier than he thought, and suddenly the ceiling is gone. It‘s just not there anymore. Looking up, all Mike can see is a blue abyss, shot with puffy white clouds. Next the wind hits him. The Chicago wind. The sensation of having nothing to fixate his eyes on, and being shaken by this violent breeze, gets him to stumble and sway, until he realizes he can‘t just look at the sky. He has to look at where he is walking, or he might fall. Mike‘s mom realizes that too.

 

„Careful! Careful!“ she chuckles, hooking her arm right through his to guide him. „Are you okay, sweetie.“

 

„I don‘t know.“ he gulps. „There‘s nothing up there.“

 

„Come on. To the car. That‘ll make it better.“

 

Mike follows, feeling himself dragged across the unfamiliar, paved ground that doesn‘t feel quite as sticky and doesn‘t squeak like the linoleum in the hospital does. Speaking of which, he takes a look back to finally see the building. It‘s a pretty ugly thing, all in all. Something that looked modern in the fifties with its four floors, flat roof, all uniform rows of windows. Slightly dirty from being subjected to the elements, it is nothing but utilitarian.

 

They approach the parking lot, where Mike really doesn‘t recognize the station wagon, that should be familiar. Damn, it‘s just been a little over five months. He really has to snap out of this _‚The outside world is scary‘_ trip. Just as he suspected, the hospital isn‘t situated by a road. There is just a long driveway that leads towards the city.

 

His mom was right, the narrow confinement in the car makes it somewhat better. Soon they are rolling away from the hospital, with the building shrinking in the right mirror. So many things Mike never paid attention to before. The engine noise. The small, almost unnoticeable jerk every time a new gear slides in, the way the car leans around corners, even at low speeds.

 

And then, all the people, of course. The traffic is flowing through the city of Chicago just as the pedestrians are splashing past in waves on the sidewalks. There must be millions. Not really, but at least thousands. Everything around them is just so huge, so wide, and so far away. Be it buildings, traffic lights, other cars; there are distances involved here that Mike could only dream of for half a year.

 

„Are you hungry, sweetie? I know you didn‘t have lunch. There is this pizza place a few blocks from here where I sometimes got a small lunch.“

 

„Sounds good.“ Mike agrees, only reluctantly because his stomach is really clenching with hunger. He would much rather get on the road right away. „Three hours can be a long time if you‘re hungry.“

 

Only minutes later, she parks the car right at the curb in front of the pizzeria she mentioned. The small distance from here to the building still feels weird to pass, but not as weird as from the hospital to the car. Mike manages, and once inside, he relaxes enough. They order, and then sit down at a table by the front window, since the place is almost empty.

 

„Is this okay?“ she inquires. „You‘re tense.“

 

Mike puts an emphasis on how he pulls his shoulders down and relaxes them to appease his mom. „All good. Doctor said something about mild agoraphobia in the first few days. I think I‘m gonna write that down first.“

 

„You probably should. And you don‘t wanna... maybe eat in the car?“

 

„Absolutely not.“ Mike shakes his head vehemently. „I‘m just a bit uncomfortable. I gotta deal with that, or it‘s never gonna get better.“

 

„That‘s... mature.“ she sighs heavily. „I can‘t believe I have you back.“

 

„You better believe it.“ Mike taunts. „Spending more money on food, doing twice as much laundry, cleaning up after me, all things you‘re gonna experience first hand again.“

 

„I wouldn‘t trade that for the world. By the way I-“ His mom is interrupted by the waiter serving their pizza, a typical Chicago deep-dish. Mike has come to like this style, as it was served around once a month on a Saturday at the hospital. „That‘s a lot.“ she notes. „I usually buy just one or two slices.“

 

„Don‘t underestimate my stomach.“ Mike makes it sound like a threat, already halfway through his first slice. „You were saying?“

 

„I was saying... oh yes, I left Nancy in charge of dinner.“

 

„And you don‘t think that‘s gonna work out.“ he states. „I‘d say trust her. She‘s been living on her own long enough.“

 

 

* * *

 

Gently rocked by the highway they are rolling down, Mike slides down in his comfortable seat just slightly. This is comforting. The bumps in the road that make the car sway, the noise around him, the presence of his mom, who reaches for his hand from time to time to make sure he is still there. They still have about two hours to go.

 

„You‘ll want to visit William for his birthday?“ she inquires.

 

„What do you think?“ Mike chuckles.

 

„Exactly that. I baked a cake that you‘re gonna take with you.“ She hesitates before going on. „I‘d like to have some family time today. You can be out there from tomorrow on, but I‘d just... I want to have you around for a few hours.“

 

„Hey, no need to make a fuzz. There‘s nothing I‘d rather do tonight than sit on the living room couch. Just sit there, really.“ Mike tries to appease. „I don‘t think I‘ll be able to stay up late anyways. And I‘m fine with seeing them all tomorrow.“

 

„You know, they all came by after school each and every day in the last three weeks. To make sure plans for your release haven‘t changed.“

 

„That‘s... that‘s how they are.“ Mike smiles, deeply moved by this. „When you brought Will I promised him I‘d be out for his birthday.“

 

She nods knowingly. „You get to keep that promise. Speaking of him, look in the glove box. I almost forgot, he gave me a little present for you.“

 

„It‘s gonna be _his_ birthday.“ Mike chuckles. „And he‘s giving _me_ a present?“ In the glove box he finds a cassette tape, fittingly labeled _‚Post Psych-Ward Regeneration Mix‘_.

 

„Go ahead.“ His mom points at the cassette player.

 

„You‘re okay with this? Whatever is on there, you‘re gonna have to stand it.“

 

„I was young once, you know. Pop it in.“ she insists. „I‘m curious what the devil is trying to lure you in with.“

 

„Do I have to understand what-“

 

„When I was ten your grandparents took me to this church festival thing where they burned Elvis and Chuck Berry LPs. Enough explanation?“ Nostalgia and something like pity mix in her voice. „They never got it.“

 

„Okay then.“ Mike shrugs. „Here goes nothing.“ He pops the tape in, and presses play.

 

The tape really turns out a wide range of everything Will thinks Mike could like, and Mike does. He loves every last bit of it, from Will‘s absolute favorite The Clash, over The Cure and Depeche Mode, to Talking Heads. As Mike watches his mom bob her head along to a few songs, he is glad Will didn‘t put anything of the more extreme stuff on this tape. His newfound taste for bands like Dead Kennedys and Black Flag could have really made things difficult in this car.

 

The entire fifty minutes the double-sided cassette lasts them, Mike is weirdly aware of how this is his first time listening to actual music since October. If you don‘t count Disney songs from the weekly movie afternoons and Lawrence‘s singing, that is. These next few days will probably have a lot of ‚firsts‘ in store for him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The sign that said _‚INDIANAPOLIS‘_ in all capital giant white letters has long passed when a heavy stone drops into Mike‘s stomach.

 

‚ _Welcome to Hawkins, Indiana!‘_ the wooden sign reads, framed by faded painted renditions of the woods surrounding his hometown. Three and a half hours. And now he is here. And _holy crap_. „Mom!“ he suddenly gasps. „You took this trip every Saturday for half a year!“

 

„And you tried to talk me out of it.“ she sighs regretfully. Mike gets what she is about. „I‘m... I‘m sorry.“ his mom goes on, as they leave the _‚Welcome‘_ -sign behind at 25 miles an hour.

 

„Let‘s not talk about that.“ He shakes his head. „Barely felt it.“

 

„It‘s about the gesture, Michael.“

 

„The gesture...“ Mike sighs. „...was, you still wanted to see me. Even if I didn‘t do anything but lie in bed and smell bad. I was pretty good at that, wasn‘t I?“

 

„It was... bad. For a while.“ she eventually admits, but not without a smile of relief that Mike can actually joke about this now.

 

Their conversation doesn‘t distract him from what is going on around him. The town. It‘s close to 5PM on a Friday, and Hawkins is buzzing with life. As much as a town as Hawkins can be buzzing anyways. Mike counts the amazing amount of 20 people in the streets around the center of town, where the movie theater, Melvald‘s General Store, the police station, and town hall are located.

 

From there, it‘s a mere five minutes. Five minutes that are over in the blink of an eye, when the engine stops, leaving the car in eerie silence in the driveway in front of the house. Mike sees his dad‘s car in the open garage.

 

But it‘s the house itself that catches his attention more than anything. He continues to gawk at it when his mom unbuckles her seatbelt and swings the car door open. _They are all in there. Dad, Nancy and Holly_. So what? Just his family. But there is no doubt, Mike is going to be the center of attention tonight. He is going to have to live with that. There is no rational reason to procrastinate anymore. Mike steps out of the car to follow his mom to the clean white front door.

 

The thought that they must have heard the car, that they‘re probably waiting just a few feet away, gets his stomach to churn uncomfortably. He is prepared to step inside to face them. What he isn‘t prepared for is the door swinging open, a small commotion that has his mom step aside hastily, and finally Nancy draping her arms around him.

 

The initial hug doesn‘t last long, as she jumps back to stare him in the eyes. On eye level. „You‘re tall.“ she sniffs out.

 

„Taller than before I guess.“ Mike shrugs.

 

„Mom!“ Nancy turns around, tears glistering in her eyes. „I think you‘ve brought the wrong one. That‘s not my little brother. Sorry I didn‘t make it for Christmas.“ She sobs these last words against Mike‘s shoulder, hugging him so tight it hurts. This has never occurred before. The two of them have never hugged like this.

 

„You wouldn‘t have enjoyed it anyways. I was a mess.“

 

„Still sorry. Come inside“ She then drags him inside without letting him any say in this. Once again, Mike just can‘t get over the fact that his is _his home_. Nothing is different. Soft carpet everywhere, warm colors, just a homely atmosphere. From what Mike can see from the entrance, the stairs and the rooms are all in the right place too. Nancy‘s arm is still hanging around his shoulder, which makes him painfully aware that he is being watched. Mike has no idea if his face is giving away even a glimpse of that powerful rush of emotion he is feeling.

 

His dad is there too, coming from the dining room, sporting a very, _very_ reserved smile. „Michael, you‘re back.“ It‘s always good to hear someone state the obvious, especially if that someone knows what he is doing, and is mildly ashamed of it. It‘s not even Mike‘s birthday, but they hug.

 

Now there are three people watching him intently. One is missing, and Mike only spots her after scanning the environment, because he wasn‘t looking at the right height. Holly‘ face comes sticking out from behind the door frame to the living room, and that knocks Mike off his feet. She is so tall. _So tall!_

 

He will still have to crouch down to hug her. It doesn‘t come to that, though, because her cautious demeanor quickly changes when Mike greets her softly. „Hey, Holls.“ That‘s when she starts bawling. She doesn‘t just weep, she cries her eyes out in _fear_. „Holly?“ It looks like he is making it worse by trying to talk to her.

 

„Holly, baby!“ Mike‘s mom takes the four year old in her arms. „Look, it‘s Michael. Don‘t you want to say hello to your brother?“ Mike‘s sister only shakes her head, crying even harder, struggling out of her mother‘s embrace. In the blink of an eye she is gone.

 

„Ted?“

 

„Yeah.“ Mike‘s father nods. „I‘m gonna talk to her. Don‘t take it personally, that‘s... a phase, I think.“

 

Mike smiles weakly at that. Has she forgotten him? Maybe he should have let his mom bring Holly along a few times at least. Now all he can do is try to pretend this doesn‘t hurt. A few months ago he would have never thought he could ever miss that blonde little bundle of domestic terror that much.

 

 

* * *

 

„So...“ Nancy stuffs a bite of pork chop into her mouth.

 

„So... what?“ Mike does the same, and it is absolutely delicious. Well, probably it‘s anything but, because everyone else tends to swallow without even chewing that much. Still, it‘s so far beyond hospital food, he wonders how he could ever survive on that stuff and even manage to grow.

 

The current situation is mildly uncomfortable. No one seems to know what to say right now. Nancy, bravely trying, fails at making conversation. Holly, trying to avoid Mike‘s gaze, shifts around in her raised seat. Next to her, their mom chews the pork chop, shooting Nancy a few pitying glares, be it because of her loss for words, or because of her mediocre cooking. Credit where credit is due, Ted Wheeler is gently whispering to Holly, perhaps still trying to persuade her to finally talk to Mike.

 

„Hey.“ Mike eventually says when he can‘t handle the silence anymore. „What‘s wrong?“ The question isn‘t directed at anyone in particular.

 

„God... I‘m sorry.“ Nancy answers on behalf of everyone. „You‘re... you‘re really here. I don‘t think anyone‘s trying to make this weird on purpose.“

 

„Your sister is right.“ dad cuts in. „We spent half a year without you at the dinner table. It‘s just so different now. But we‘re happy to have you back, Michael.“

 

„Honey, it‘s not your fault.“ his mom agrees. „We just need some time to... to believe it.“

 

„Okay, but...“ Mike bites his lip. „Can we please just try to make this as normal as we can?“ Everyone still gawks at him, making Mike realize he has to make the first step. „Nance, how was your trip home?“

 

„I hate trains.“ she huffs with utter relief that they have found a topic. „They‘re jerky and uncomfortable and crammed.“

 

„But what‘s the alternative?“ their mom shrugs. „Flying isn‘t within your budget, and I wouldn‘t let you take a twelve hour drive if you had a car. Not in a million years.“

 

„Mom, it‘s not like there are any serial killers between here and Boston. That‘s more like a California or Florida thing.“

 

„I was referring to tired truckers and drunk drivers. Thanks for making me worry about one more thing, though, miss.“

 

God, that‘s more like it. Mike leans back a bit, content with listening to a conversation that doesn‘t revolve around him for once. Something like this never really occurred during visiting hours.

 

 

* * *

 

 _This is terrible!_ It‘s not his own bed he is lying in, throwing around, covered in a layer of night sweat. The clock is showing midnight. Mike hasn‘t slept a second yet, despite falling into the sheets completely drained and exhausted at 8PM. He is sinking into this mattress. Too deep! Too damn deep! It‘s too soft, too comfortable and puffy. The room around him is crammed with books, old toys, posters...

 

Mike‘s eyes snap over as he darts up in bed. He can‘t sleep like this. He just can‘t. It‘s March, so why is it so damn hot in here? He can‘t breathe! Dim white light comes trickling in through the closed blinds, falling against the wall opposite to the window. It‘s supposed to be pitch black. It was always pitch black at the hospital after sundown, because the city was just so far away.

 

Mike has to move. While standing up he rips the too tight shirt off of himself. The relief only lasts for a few seconds, when he begins to shiver as the sweat rapidly cools down his skin. _Great!_ Mike can‘t remember ever being so frustrated in his entire life. Everything around and inside of him screams, bringing him to the verge of tears. He wants to sleep! He wants his bed, not this pile of cushions. Why can‘t he just go back to where it‘s comfortably uncomfortable and cold?

 

Teeth gnashing, he rips open the wardrobe. The old gray shirt, one of the few old ones that his parents didn‘t throw out, springs into view immediately. He won‘t be wearing that outside anyways. So, Mike does the only thing that promises relief from this torture right now. He takes it in both hands, pulling on it in every direction with all his strength. He stretches is to impossible lengths, further and further.

 

Until it is nothing more than a loose bag of textile. Only then does he slide it over himself. It‘s almost as if nothing is there, exactly like the hospital shirts he is now so used to. It has to suffice. _Water._ Mike needs water.

 

 

* * *

 

He never really liked _‚Sanford and Son‘_ , but that rerun in the middle of the night is better than nothing. It‘s 2AM, and Mike knows he should be fast asleep, if not for himself, then for his friends who is going to meet in 8 hours time at the Byers house, to celebrate Will‘s birthday. Well, in the end, this won‘t be the first time that he goes a night without sleep. It‘s just not possible.

 

The volume of the TV is turned down so low the voices are just barely audible, something that used to lull Mike to sleep when he was a child. Falling asleep right on this couch, but waking up in his own bed. Yes, that was an unprecedented luxury. Long before all that shit went down that left Mike fucked up in the head.

 

While only a small area of the living room is actually illuminated, Mike has looked at everything after dinner to make sure he remembers what it looks like. The walls are plastered with family photos, but there isn‘t a single one without Mike in it, meaning the family hasn‘t taken any photos whatsoever during his absence.

 

Unable to process any of the events on screen, he just hopes this night is going to be over soon. However, daylight is still at least 4 hours away.

 

Footsteps on the stairs startle him. They are small, with long pauses in between, coming down from upstairs in a matter of a minute, and that can only mean one thing. A tiny little head appears at the entrance to the living room, blue eyes blurry from sleep but wide open and somewhat fearful.

 

„Holly?“ Mike whispers into the darkness of the living room, smiling faintly. Her face immediately flinches back, leaving only one eye visible to him. „Holls...“ he sighs softly. „Go to bed, it‘s the middle of the night.“ Now it looks like she is shaking her head. „You wanna sit down with me?“

 

That has her thinking, as it seems. Fingers appear from behind the door frame. Her entire face, her legs, her arms, until she is taking just a few, hesitant steps in Mike‘s direction. In turn, he pats his flat hand on the couch. „I‘m not gonna bite you.“

 

She approaches him ever so slowly, for every two steps she takes forwards, she takes one in the opposite direction. But does she really not recognize Mike? Sure, he is taller, and yes, his hair is shorter. His voice is an entirely different one from when she last saw him. Maybe that‘s enough for a four year old to forget. Half a year.

 

Holly doesn‘t sit on the couch, preferring the floor, and she doesn‘t look at Mike anymore from then on. „Hey.“ he mumbles through a sudden stroke of genius. „Can you wait here for a minute and not get scared?“ His sister shrugs, but nods.

 

Mike doesn‘t hesitate to hastily make his way to the front door, where the giant duffel bag with all his books is still resting in a corner. It‘s not like his mom to let stuff lie around, but under the circumstances, she just didn‘t want to waste any time she could spend with Mike on dragging it upstairs. Mike doesn‘t look for any books, though. It‘s the teddy bear he takes with him back to the living room.

 

„Look.“ he smiles at his sister, presenting the stuffed animal to her. „This is... uh... well, he doesn‘t have a name. But he‘s a super hero. A _real_ super hero.“ He loves watching those doe-eyes grow wide with amazement.

 

„Super hero?“ Holly squeaks. It is the first time Mike hears her voice.

 

„Yeah.“ he nods. „He helped me a lot.“ Mike crosses his legs in front of himself on the couch, placing the dark hazel bear in his lap. His worst nights come back to mind looking at it. „He made it better when I had to cry.“ And Mike is dangerously close to that right now again.

 

„You lie.“ Holly states with all the confident wisdom of a little child. „Big boys don‘t cry.“

 

„Maybe you‘re right. I guess that means I don‘t need him anymore. Do you want to have him? You could give him a name.“

 

And finally, that has Holly climbing the couch. Her tiny little hand reaches for the bear, and Mike watches her cuddle it in the blue light the TV is emitting. „See?“ he sniffs, feeling the first few salty droplets running down his cheeks. „Big boys _do_ cry sometimes. But that‘s okay, I guess.“

 

Mike is not prepared for her reaction. She climbs on top of him. She actually climbs, almost like a baby monkey, trying to stand up on his lap. It doesn‘t work too well, her small foot hits him where it hurts the most at least once, but Mike swallows his pained groans when Holly whispers „Mikey?“, as though she has only now realized who this weird intruder in her home is.

 

„Hey, Holls. Sorry I‘ve been gone for such a long time.“

 

Sleep is coming naturally to him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I want to address here: I love this story. I enjoy writing it, I enjoy thinking about how I'm gonna continue it, I enjoy imagining the immense satisfaction I'm gonna feel once I'm through with it.  
> But if it's too slow... I guess I'm sorry. Things are gonna happen. Eventually. Right now I'm aiming at around 25 to 30 chapters, so yeah, this will include a lot of interaction that won't necessarily help the story progress, just for the emotional value of it. Hope you guys will stick around anyways, because I think it's gonna be worthwhile.


	15. Jubilee (Episode II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I wanna start out with lyrics that I find really fitting.
> 
> I know you're tired  
> And you ain't sleeping well  
> Uninspired  
> And likely mad as hell
> 
>  
> 
> You have no idea how good that sums up my last two weeks. Granted, I posted some smut, but I had that stuff 90% finished already a month ago, so it doesn't really count, does it? Holy shit, this was, once again, hard to write. BUT I'm still here, still kicking, still typing. And I even had to split this chapter because, ONCE AGAIN, it's gonna turn out longer than I planned. So, after I kept you guys hanging for 18 days (!!!) here it is.
> 
>  
> 
> Small edit: I was here for 2222 hits. Fucking crazy, thank you so much for reading.

_Click!_

 

Mike doesn‘t bother with opening his eyes. If anything, he presses them shut demonstratively, as if to say _No, I‘m not getting up right now_. In the end it‘s going to be futile, of course. They have unlocked his door, so it is time for him to say goodbye to his bed for today. Either that, or they are going to notice he is missing when they give out pills. And then someone is going to come get him.

 

This morning is particularly terrible, though, and Mike couldn‘t care less. Just a few more minutes of sleep, that is all he is asking for. It doesn‘t feel like he has gotten enough of that last night, for one reason or another. The lack of rest presses down on his chest like a heavy weight. So, Mike decides to simply wait for someone to come by. He might get twenty minutes more.

 

_Click!_

 

Wait, what? Did someone just lock his door again? Well, okay then. As tired as he is now, Mike could happily spend a day in bed. Especially when it‘s such a comfortable bed. Paying close attention to it now, it is even unusually comfortable. Something is different this morning. Mike smirks at the thought of someone sneaking inside in the dead of night and swapping his mattress underneath him. But this is unlikely.

 

_Click!_

 

Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Someone must be playing a prank on Mike. He can‘t imagine it‘s Nurse Plummer. It can‘t be Sybil either, she only clocks in at 8AM. Nurse Lime? No, he is probably too indifferent to be a prankster.

 

_Click!_

 

Mike groans. Well, if they want to torture him like this, so be it. The light stings when it hits his overly sensitive retina through his dilated pupils. It isn‘t gray, that is the first thing he notices. Actually, the light is beautiful. Orange, warm, filtered through light curtains. Since when does Mike‘s room have curtains?

 

This isn‘t his hospital room! That‘s it! Or any other room in the hospital, for that matter. And someone else is there too. „Mom?“

 

The camera clicks one final time, mercifully without a flash. That would have killed Mike. „Shh.“ Mike‘s mom hushes. „Don‘t wake her up.“ She sets the camera down in its usual spot on a bookshelf.

 

„Wake who- oh!“ Mike‘s voice turns into a whisper, when it hits him; The weight on his chest really isn‘t his need for sleep. No, he isn‘t quite as exhausted as he imagined just moments ago. What‘s pressing down on him is much more physical in nature, a snoring blonde toddler. Mike‘s head sinks back against the armrest of the living room couch, and he begins running a few fingers through Holly‘s hair. His little sister is sprawled out on top of him, arms and legs hanging to either side of him. Mike at least imagines to feel her slow and steady heartbeat. The teddy bear is somewhat jammed between his side and the backrest of the couch.

 

„Did I leave the TV on?“ he whispers.

 

His mom looks at him with greatest sympathy, eyes still glistering from when she took the photos of him and Holly. „Don‘t worry about it. I‘m just glad you got some sleep. Did you want breakfast?“

 

„Would be nice.“ Mike says over his growling stomach. „Everyone else still asleep?“

 

„It‘s not even 7.“ she nods. „I didn‘t want to wake you yet, sorry. I just had to take some photos.“

 

„Uh... no. It‘s okay. I‘m gonna have to take my pill soon. Around 8.“ Now, how is Mike supposed to get up without waking Holly? He shifts around a little, making her stir and whine against his shirt. That makes him stop his attempts at sitting up again. „What am I gonna do?“

 

„I‘ll take her.“ mom says gently, but when she approaches and carefully takes Holly by her sides, the girl stirs once more, groaning something completely incoherent, before clutching into Mike‘s loose hanging shirt with both her tiny fists. There is no way Karen could pry her away from Mike now. „Hm.“ she hums. „Just sit up but try not to wake her up. I‘ll get you your breakfast.“

 

„Okay. Thanks, mom.“ Mike‘s voice is still just a whisper when he tries once again. Finally sitting upright, with Holly still straddling him, he notices though, he has in fact woken his sister up. Her hazy blue eyes rest on him, trying their best to focus. A few times they fall shut again, and her head bobs forward against Mike‘s chest.

 

„Mikey?“ Holly yawns, long and deep.

 

„Holls?“ he smirks at her. „Morning.“

 

The little girl sniffs quietly, face buried in Mike‘s gray shirt, which prompts Mike to put his arms around her, just to feel her trembling. „Hey...“ he hushes into her ear. „It‘s okay. I‘m back.“

 

„Missed you.“ she whimpers.

 

Mike feels the need to both laugh and cry, but he has done enough crying already, so he just chokes up some laughter, that is more pained than anything. „Missed you too. Mom is making us breakfast. We can eat here if you want.“

 

„Okay.“ Holly is calm now, the initial shock of waking up on top of her long lost brother has worn off pretty quickly. Mike figures, with some luck she might not even remember him ever being away in a year or two. She is just four, after all, and Mike can‘t really recall anything from when he was four. Maybe vague images, his dad without the few gray streaks in his hair, the old family car, their cat. No specific events, though.

 

It‘s fitting, he thinks. The earliest specific memory Mike possesses is that of a very lonely boy staring at his own feet on a kindergarten playground. He doesn‘t remember anything else from that day, not the drive there, not the first thing he ever heard his teacher say, not the games the class played; every second of interaction with Will is permanently imprinted in his mind, though.

 

Mike‘s eyes widen at the thought. Today is March 22nd. Will‘s birthday. He is going to see his best friend today, as well as the entire party. No matter what Mike does at home, it seems that these past five months will be a constant in his life for a while. So many firsts to check on his list. Seeing his friends, playing D&D, going to school. These things, while normal just a half year earlier, will be absolutely huge, and there is admittedly a slight nervous tension to it.

 

But there are also the small things. Like pancakes for breakfast. _Real_ pancakes, made by mom with love and ingredients other than off-brand pancake mix. Hospitals work on a budget, after all. „Here you go.“ Mom smiles, handing Mike his plate. He can‘t take it, though. Someone is still occupying his lap.

 

„Hey, Holls? We can‘t eat if you don‘t sit down.“

 

Holly insistently nuzzles into Mike‘s shirt, but lets go eventually. She is just as hungry, and just because she has to sit next to Mike now instead of on top of him, doesn‘t mean she can‘t stay close. Half on his lap, actually. So, for Mike it takes a bit of fumbling and advanced fork skills to finally embrace the taste of mom‘s pancakes with extra syrup. But it‘s all worth it.

 

Mike‘s mom doesn‘t even seem to mind him talking with his mouth full. „This is the best breakfast ever, mom.“ It‘s his way to express something he would feel cheesy saying; _Mike is in chocolate chip heaven, floating on a cloud of syrup_. It would sound ridiculous even to Mike if it wasn‘t true.

 

More than once his mom scurries in and out of the living room, providing Mike with more heaven. Eventually, he has to stop himself from eating more, since he can‘t allow himself to burst. There will be cake today. And probably snacks. What kind of first day back home would it be if he had to throw up on Will‘s floor.

 

„Holly, baby.“ Mom comes back, this time without another mountain of pancakes. She looks about ready to do the dishes. „I‘m afraid you really have to let go of your brother now. Michael, you might want to take a shower. I‘ll get you over to the Byers‘ house before noon.“

 

„That early?“ Mike realizes he sounds almost as if he is complaining. „Not that I‘d mind.“

 

„Well, I think they want you to be there before the others.“

 

The idea behind that is, of course, getting Mike and Will some alone time. Which they probably need, Mike reckons.

 

 

* * *

 

Freshly showered, medicated, dressed for the day in ridiculously good fitting clothes, Mike can only wait. He paces his room, inspecting everything in broad daylight. Everything about his home lets a lump swell in Mike‘s stomach. It‘s really just the realization how much he missed all this. From Holly and Nancy to this Han Solo action figure he hasn‘t touched in ages, and everything in between.

 

And then there is that small item that is new to this room. The black book with all its blank pages. This is as good a moment as any to start writing. Mike didn‘t think that was possible, but after only about twelve hours of being home, he has collected enough impressions and thoughts to fill some lines with. The words flow out of him through his pen on their own, even if writing down his own feelings is a strange thing to do.

 

_March 22_

_I‘ve been home for a night. Things were a bit uncomfortable in the beginning. Like dinner, when everyone was behaving weird. They‘re not trying to give me a hard time, but I really think it could take a few days to reconnect with my family, so it‘s good that I won‘t be going to school for another week. My little sister refused to talk to me for a few hours. It looked like she was scared, and that actually hurt a lot. I have no idea why, but thinking about it now, I missed her the most._

_Today is my friend Will‘s birthday, and I‘ll be going to his house in an hour for his party. I‘m_

 

Mike stops there for a while, just staring at the words he has written so far. Should he really write what he is thinking about? Well, if it is true, he should write it down. It might be important. His leg twitches nervously. Reflecting on his experience so far and planning for the immediate future is somewhat frightening. He is going to see them all. Dustin, Max, Lucas, Jonathan, Mrs Byers, Mr Newby. They will all want to talk to him.

 

_I‘m scared. I know it‘s stupid after I have exchanged so many letters with my friends, but I haven‘t seen most of them in half a year. We‘ll have to talk about what happened, and I don‘t know if I want that. But I also don‘t want to tell them to leave me alone with it. They all have a right to get an explanation and an apology, at least. And I‘m really scared about Will‘s mom. And his brother. I somehow want to run away from that._

 

A heavy sigh comes from Mike as he drops the pen for now. He will complete the entry later on, when the day is over. When he has survived the inevitable confrontation with Will‘s family, who have every reason to hate him. And yet they invite him back into their home. What was that back in December? Will‘s mom fought tooth and claw to let him visit Mike at the hospital?

 

 

* * *

 

Two cars are already in the driveway. Mrs Byers‘ Pinto, and Jonathan‘s LTD.

 

„You‘ll call when you want me to pick you up, okay?“ Mike‘s mom throws the car in park for the moment. There it is. The Byers‘ house, with its run down porch, the semi-flat roof that has seen better times, and the several small sheds around it. Will likes to take inspirations from these when drawing medieval style places for D&D campaigns. This used to be a second home, a place where Mike lived every other weekend, where he spent some of the best nights of his life.

 

When Mike was younger, his dad once called this place a junkyard. In all fairness, it might just be, looking at all those broken umbrellas, a rusty old bike that‘s missing a tire, a few rusted hoods from cars someone around here used to own. But to Mike, back then, it was nothing but the most awesome adventure playground he could possibly imagine. And on the inside, it was warm. He was welcome here. Now, the sight of this formerly homely place causes the tablet that is resting in Mike‘s lap weigh a thousand tons. Granted, it is a lot of cake, but not _that_ much. It looks delicious too, even though it might give Mike chocolate overdose after the sheer amounts of pancakes he has already devoured today.

 

„I‘ll call.“ he confirms, so far not making any attempt at actually getting out of the car. He just stares at the front door. Mike stabbed his best friend in there. Shouldn‘t he be over this by now, after all those letters, after endless therapy sessions? Everyone else might be able to forget, but Mike is never going to live this down.

 

„Are you nervous, honey?“

 

„Yeah.“

 

His mom sighs heavily, smiling the most compassionate smile she is capable of. „If it helps, I spent a lot of time with Joyce lately. She is always so worried about you. Always asking how you‘re doing.“

 

„Helps.“ Mike breathes dishonestly. No, it doesn‘t help at all. „I‘ll be fine, mom. Promise I‘ll call you.“

 

„Good. Good.“

 

There is some awkwardness to this situation from mom‘s side. „Anything wrong, mom?“

 

„N-no.“ Mike‘s mom doesn‘t sound too convincing now. „I mean... I‘m going to have to remind myself where you are all day. When I found your bed empty this morning I-“

 

„Get the photos developed.“ Mike gets it. He still can‘t really believe it either, given that he woke up thinking he was still at the hospital in the morning. But with her camera, his mom has produced irrefutable proof that he is, in fact, back in Hawkins.

 

„Yeah. I might do that. Have a fun day, honey.“

 

„I will.“ Mike swings the passenger‘s door open, takes the tablet with the cake in both hands, and heaves himself to his feet. The fresh air engulfs him fully. Air that is so much better than anything he got to breathe in Chicago. When old people talk about the air being better in small towns they seem to be right after all. No matter how many young people want to get out of places like this, Mike can‘t think of a place he would rather be right now. „See you later, mom.“

 

She gives him a look as if she‘d rather want to come inside. Or just tie him up, drag him back home and fuzz over him with pancakes and hot chocolate until the end of time. She doesn‘t, though, instead starting the car. Still, she waits for Mike to approach the house and probably won‘t leave until he is inside.

 

Mike is still trying to figure out how to knock or ring the doorbell with his hands full like this, when the door just creaks open. Well, a running engine right outside of the house can‘t go unnoticed, especially not with those thin walls and windows.

 

It‘s Will, and he seriously looks like he has been waiting right there behind that creaky wooden door since he got up. Now neither of them really knows what to do, though. Mike is too preoccupied with the cake to do anything but stare.

 

„You might wanna set that down somewhere.“ Will notes wryly. „Looks heavy.“

 

„Yeah.“

 

Will makes room so Mike can enter, sideways because the tablet is so wide it won‘t fit through the door. This happens more than once on his way through the familiar house, before he finally gets into the living room, where he spent so many long nights. The TV is still running, with some news anchor droning about a serial killer of some sort.

 

„ _...finding the tenth victim. Citizens of Maine are inclined to call the killer their own John Wayne Gacy. However, Penobscot County police have noted, that Gacy, who is currently awaiting execution in Crest Hill, Illinois, never committed a murder wearing his clown costume. Citizens are advised to-“_

 

With that, Will shuts it off. „Too fucked up for my taste. Stuff like that really drags me down. Uh... the table. Set it down there.“ He clears an area large enough for Mike to finally get rid of the tablet.

 

„Jesus Christ, that was heavy!“ he grunts, finally relieving himself of that weight. „So...“

 

„So...“ Will grins at him wide and toothy, but with sparkling eyes. It really seems like there is an awkward moment ensuing between the two of them for whatever reason. He looks different. Different from what he looked like in December. Will is keeping up with Mike in terms of growth spurts, but most strikingly, he has finally gotten rid of his horrible bowl cut. But that‘s not all. Mike is proud to say, he knows Will pretty well, and now there somehow is this added layer of confidence around him, which isn‘t visible as much as it is palpable.

 

Mike takes a look around. Everything is still mostly the same. The beige flower-wallpaper that used to be modern and stylish. The dingy wooden paneling around some of the walls is still dark and welcoming in its own way. This place has character. Just the carpet. It‘s new. Of course it‘s new. Mike can‘t worry too much about that, though. Will is still grinning. And Mike is too.

 

„You‘re back.“ Will says, his fingers twitching. He takes a step towards Mike.

 

„I‘m back.“ Mike takes a step towards Will. „Happy birthday, Byers.“ Then, they both just lose it. Mike can‘t remember ever hugging someone that tightly. It‘s so different from just three months ago. There is no real tension, fear, or regret, just absolute happiness.

 

„I was scared something could go wrong.“ Will mutters. „Some last minute shit that could ruin everything.“

 

„You mean that they could keep me in longer? That I could snap again?“

 

„Not what I was trying to say.“ Will absolutely refuses to break up their embrace just yet. His fingernails just slightly dig into Mike‘s back. „Just... that judge could have changed his mind. Or the doctor, or they could have-“

 

„I know. Could have. Let‘s not think about it.“ Mike laughs, not without the uncomfortable feeling that Will is telling the truth. Things could have taken a turn for the worse. „Good to be back.“

 

„Good to have you back.“ It takes probably another minute for them to let go, but it‘s a much needed minute. „You wanna sit down or something? It‘s gonna take at least an hour before anyone else gets here.“

 

„Uh...“ Mike suddenly gulps. It‘s going to be best to just get it over with, because while he knows he‘s got nothing to fear, it will be at least awkward, if not painful to face Mrs Byers. „Your mom is home, right?“

 

„Yeah.“ Will confirms casually. „Jonathan too. Why, you wanna talk to them?“

 

„Don‘t you think I should?“

 

Out of all things Will could do, Mike doesn‘t expect him to laugh. „I mean, they‘re not gonna rip your head off, if that‘s what you‘re worried about. And actually mom told me she doesn‘t want to make this weird.“

 

„That‘s... that‘s nice and all.“ Mike utters. „But we can‘t just pretend nothing happened, can we?“

 

„I can.“ Will shrugs, surprising Mike with his nonchalant tone. „Maybe you‘re right. We talked about stuff already. I... I get it. They‘re both in the kitchen.“

 

„Okay then.“ Mike seriously needs to brace himself for what he is about to do. The kitchen is only two rooms over, it would be a small wonder if Mrs Byers and Jonathan hadn‘t heard him and Will already. Procrastinating is no use. While Will sits down on the couch, almost comically drooling for the delicious cake Mike brought, he takes the few steps it takes, heart not racing, but beating with all its power.

 

„Hello?“ he croaks weakly. „Mrs Byers?“ First, there is a small commotion, not from Mrs Byers, but from Jonathan, who, coming from the hall, just rushes past Mike without batting an eye. He keeps his head high up, still towering over Mike that way, and all he leaves behind is an angry breeze that blows through his hair. The kitchen makes Mike feel icy cold all over, because this is where it happened. There is nothing that could shield him of the memory now that he is here. The only evidence of anything unusual going on in here is the knife block, that is missing just one knife.

 

„Mike?“ That is Mrs Byers‘ voice. It looks like she was out back until now, as she comes in through the kitchen door. Upon seeing her, Mike just freezes. Was she always this small? How can he be taller than her? „It‘s really you!“ she squeals, all but running towards him. „I didn‘t even recognize your voice, I mean-“

 

„Mrs Byers, I-“ Her embrace then simply knocks the wind out of Mike, because it‘s something he couldn‘t foresee.

 

„Don‘t say it, okay sweetie?“ she quietly orders.

 

„That I‘m... s-“

 

„Exactly that. Don‘t apologize.“ Mrs Byers insists.

 

„B-but I have to-“ Mike stammers, quickly realizing, Joyce Byers will always have her way. She won‘t let him finish.

 

„Stop. Just... sit down. I‘ve heard enough apologies already.“ With a strength that Mike can hardly believe, she pushes him down into a wooden kitchen chair. It‘s incredible how she manages to do that while still being absolutely gentle. „Tea? Coffee? Anything?“

 

Mike isn‘t a fan of tea. He doesn‘t drink coffee either, unsure if his mom would even tolerate that. Maybe a year from now. He doesn‘t want anything else from her either. „N-no. Thanks, I‘d just... I don‘t know. Can we talk?“

 

Mrs Byers pulls herself another chair, that doesn‘t look too solid. She is absolutely confident about its rigidity, though. „I really thought you‘d much rather forget all this. Will wants you to.“

 

„I know.“ Mike is finally getting at least somewhat comfortable here. The initial shock of meeting her is over, and he finds it increasingly easy to just speak his mind. „This is just so... can‘t you just let me say I‘m sorry?“

 

„If you let me say something too?“

 

Mike remains quiet. He‘d let her say about anything, whatever she wants. This is her house, and it‘s her son he stabbed.

 

„Okay.“ Mrs Byers seems to be collecting herself a bit. „I‘ve never told this anyone before, not even Will but... on his first day of kindergarten I was... I was afraid. He was just such a sensitive kid, and I thought if the other kids give him a hard time he might just... I don‘t know... get scared of this world and just hide. But after just one day he said he‘d made a friend. And when I got to see you two together...“ She stops herself there for a while. If she is at a loss for words now, that‘s completely fine with Mike. He gets her meaning. Eventually, she just finishes with „Shit happens. A-and that doesn‘t ruin ten years. You‘re still welcome here, if that‘s what you were worried about.“

 

„T-thank you... b-but I‘m still sorry.“ Mike chokes out under his breath. „If I can make up for-“

 

Mrs Byers interrupting him seems to have become a habit by now. Her hand finds Mike‘s, and that doesn‘t feel weird in the least. „You‘ve been away for such a long time. Don‘t you think that‘s more than enough?“

 

It‘s simply unbelievable how much of a kind person she is. And still, there is that lingering sentiment of self-hate that Mike can‘t seem to shut off and forget. Especially when talking to Mrs Byers, who has been through more than enough shit in her life without Mike almost killing her son. The way he talked about her to get rid of Will rests like bile on his tongue, and he can‘t swallow. „I... I called you stupid.“ he blurts out.

 

There is no visible reaction from her, aside from her smile maybe growing a tad wider. „Not that I would know.“

 

„Not to your face.“ Mike tries to clarify. „I told Will you were stupid for letting him visit. And I kinda... I never told him that I didn‘t mean it. I was just trying to get him to leave.“

 

„Well, if you didn‘t mean it, why would it bother me? I mean, you might have been right. Look at this.“ Scampering over to the kitchen counter, she shows him a baking dish with something black charred inside that might have been cake at some point. „I can‘t cook or bake for the life of me. Thank god your mother can. I think she single-handedly saved Will‘s birthday.“

 

She is just so casual about this, talking as if nothing ever happened, that Mike just can‘t hold on to his fear any longer. That‘s just Mrs Byers the way he knows her, showing all those traits that made him comfortable around this house as a kid. Hell, he even incorporated her character into his fucked up fantasy, making her something like a motherly figure to Eleven. He still thinks that role fit her. She could literally find a kid on the streets and take them in without thinking twice. Things are okay between them. Mike doesn‘t know about Jonathan, though.

 

 

* * *

 

„So you really didn‘t unpack anything so far?“

 

„Nope.“ Will shrugs. „I‘m saving that for when everyone is here.“

 

Mike shakes his head in utter disbelief. „I couldn‘t stand that. I‘m... sorry I couldn‘t get you anything yet. Didn‘t want to send my mom out to buy something, and-“

 

„Mike, it‘s fine. You know you don‘t have to get me anything.“

 

„And you don‘t have to get _me_ anything.“ Mike retorts. „You always do anyways. So just wait a few days, I‘m gonna figure something out.“

 

„I-“

 

„Period! You‘re gonna get your present.“

 

That moment, Jonathan whizzes by again, still not even looking at Mike. It‘s a bit like he tends to quicken his steps every time they come too close to each other, and that is really the only major pang that‘s left, though maybe not undeserved. Certainly not incomprehensible. Jonathan is about the most protective person Mike knows, and he has to accept him as that. Someone who would kill and die for his family.

 

„Sorry.“ Will mumbles. „It‘s not because of you.“

 

„It is because of me.“ Mike says.

 

„Okay. Maybe it is because of you. But not everyone can be like... like...“

 

„Your mom?“ Mike suggests bitterly. „That‘s fine. I mean, I _did_ ram a knife in your shoulder, after all.“

 

„He just needs more time to get over this.“ Smirking, Will first eyes the cake, then the pile of wrapped presents next to it. „Everything‘s gonna be fine. I think he‘s mad at me too. Even if he doesn‘t want to admit it.“

 

„Why‘s that?“

 

„I brought this crap up in the first place, without an adult around. That was... kinda stupid.“ If Will regrets it, he doesn‘t show that, the way he is grinning. Mike wants to protest, but his friend has more to say. „But like I said, he won‘t ever admit that I could have handled things better. Dustin pretended to be mad, you know. Told me I should have cast protection.“

 

The words echo in Mike‘s ears uncomfortably. _Cast protection_. It wouldn‘t be the first time Will should have done that, but didn‘t. Or is it? For some of the events of 1983, Mike still isn‘t sure if they were real or not. „Didn‘t you tell me something like this before?“

 

„You mean...“ It quickly snaps into place on Will‘s face. „Oh. _That_ night. See? Sometimes I should think before I speak. I don‘t wanna be reminded of it either. But for you it‘s-“

 

„It‘s... it‘s cool. We‘re good.“ Mike forces a crooked smile. „Your mom said shit happens. It‘s over, right? Just don‘t ever think you were stupid. You couldn‘t have known what I‘d do. And...“ He lowers his voice to a whisper, because he doesn‘t feel the need to offend his best friend‘s brother. „...maybe Jonathan, or your mom, or really anyone, would have helped a lot. I had Doctor Barnes and a nurse fight me for, like, two minutes.“ Only now it dawns on him that he just sounded a lot like he wanted to brag with his strength.

 

„What?“ Will gasps. „You didn‘t tell me that? It happened a second time?“ Forgotten are all the promises of not bringing it up again, and Mike can‘t blame Will. It‘s a pretty spectacular story, to be fair. One he still kind of wants to get over with.

 

„I... jumped at him with a ball pen. And I kicked the nurse right in the guts. And, you know, when stuff like that happens in the movies, they inject them with some anesthetic and they pass out on the spot? I thought anesthetics take longer to kick in, but it‘s true. Three seconds, and you‘re out.“

 

Will seems oddly fascinated by this revelation. „Man, I really thought that was some movie nonsense. Next you‘re gonna tell me they used lightsabers to keep all the loonies in line.“

 

Mike stares at Will. Something is boiling up in his stomach; The most gut-wrenching laughter he has ever let out. „How would that work?“ he hiccups between loud bursts. „Use the deadliest weapon of the galaxy to discipline the insane?“

 

Will now has to hold himself up against Mike‘s shoulder, as he is in serious danger to just roll off the couch. „Not the deadliest.“ he all but shrieks. „But the most elegant. I thought...“ A brutal snort escapes him. „...thought blasters are too clumsy and random for guards at the nuthouse.“

 

The two of them continue their unbridled laughter, undisturbed by Mrs Byers and Jonathan who are, without doubt, hearing it. But only until the doorbell rings twice. The sound of it immediately sobers Mike up, because there is yet another _first_ on his list for today.

 

Will looks at him intently. „That‘s the guys.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's left to say other than  
> Bless Mike's and Will's friendship?  
> Also, sorry for that odd IT reference, but I just couldn't help myself.
> 
> Next chapter will include: The fantastic reunion of the Party. Presents for Will. And maybe some Jonathan/Mike real talk.  
> It won't take another 18 days.


	16. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. HOLY SHIT!  
> Can you believe it? I'm actually bringing this back after a hiatus of what, 6 or 7 weeks? But like I said (I can't stress that enough) I'm never in my life going to abandon a fic. Especially not this one, the fic that I love above all else. Please be patient with me, though. It's not always easy, but I think with this chapter I have finished the whole 'getting back home, reuniting with friends and family' story arch.
> 
> You might wanna read the last chapter again. Or maybe re-read the whole thing if you don't know what it's about anymore (SO SORRY!)

Mike can‘t help but try to stay in the background, and if he only does it to buy himself some time, get himself ready to actually see his friends, and talk to them. _This living room is nice_ , he thinks. So nice, in fact, that he doesn‘t feel the need to leave it and accompany Will to the front door. He just isn‘t able to approach them all. But he can‘t remain sitting on the couch either. Wouldn‘t that look weird, all of them finding him leaned back all comfortably after such a long time. He‘ll just have to stand there awkwardly in nervous anticipation. Dammit, if he could just get his trembling leg to calm down.

 

There it comes. Mike can hear their voices, Dustin‘s, of course, being the loudest, most distinguishable. Until now Mike didn‘t realize how much he missed that lisp, the sheer volume of it. Max and Lucas are both familiar too, congratulating Will loudly. But, oh wonder, they keep their voices down when asking for Mike. He can still hear them, though, just as well as he can hear them heading for the living room just seconds later.

 

To their credit, they are really not making it weird. Like, they could comment on Mike standing there like a deer caught in their headlights, shoulders pulled up and tensed, but they don‘t. Dustin making the first move was nothing short of predictable. Mike catches a glimpse of Lucas‘ mouth hanging open, but only until Dustin tackles him, losing his red-white cap in the process.

 

„Holy shit!“ he shouts loud enough for Mrs Byers to hear. At Mike‘s house, there‘s a hell of a lot to pay for foul language if his dad is in a bad mood. Will‘s mom never really minds someone swearing, though. „Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy-“

 

„Stop with the skipping record player.“ Mike groans painfully, feeling as if Dustin is about to break every bone in his body. „Last time I saw you, you could say more than that.“

 

„Yeah, but _holy shit!_ “ Dustin breathes out. „You‘re really here!“

 

„Was there any doubt?“ Mike knows better, but he says it anyways. Of course there was doubt. Will said it before, something could have gone wrong. „I‘m here and I‘m... I‘m fine.“

 

„Fine.“ Dustin repeats. „Really? Like, completely fine and cured, and-“

 

„Hey!“ Lucas cuts in. „Stop it, you‘re making him feel like a sicko.“

 

Dustin then finally lets go of Mike, and snorts. „What, because I‘m asking him if he‘s fine?“

 

„Because...“ Lucas really likes to emphasize that when he explains stuff. „...you asked him if he‘s cured. Implying he was sick!“

 

Mike feels like a dick right now, but he can‘t say he doesn‘t enjoy this, the typical Lucas-Dustin argument, completely unnecessary, and completely forgotten within minutes, if you just let it take its natural course.

 

„Wonder when they‘ll realize I actually was sick.“ Mike whispers to Max, who is watching the scene with mock disgust. At least, she doesn‘t look too impressed with his presence here. The way she doesn‘t comment on Mike being back is grounding, if intentional or not.

 

„It‘s gonna take them a while.“ she huffs. „You know how they- I mean... you do still know how they are, right?“

 

„It‘s been five months, not five years.“ Mike utters. „Hey, Mayfield, I‘m... sorry I sliced up your boyfriend.“ He is pretty sure she knows this already. It‘s not like he hasn‘t written this in basically every letter to her.

 

„The scar looks cool on him.“ Max shrugs with a mischievous expression. „Like he got into some bar brawl or something.“

 

„So you _have_ seen him in his underwear.“ Weirdly satisfied with how that makes her blush, Mike laughs. „That‘s really what you‘re looking for in guys?“

 

„I-“ Max begins, being cut short by Lucas.

 

„You really were sick.“ he tells Mike matter-of-factly, while sliding the bandana off his forehead. Lucas really is the only guy Mike knows who can wear a bandana without looking like a pretentious idiot. „I mean, I just gave Dustin shit for nothing, didn‘t I?“

 

„Yeah.“ Mike nods. „Can we talk alone for a second?“ It‘s weird how they somehow drag each other out of the living room, to the hall. Mike takes a step, pulling Lucas with him by the shoulder. Lucas takes a step, dragging Mike along. If one of them were to stop, the other would as well.

 

„Hey! Welcome home, Wheeler!“ Max shouts after him, prompting Mike to give her an awkward over the shoulder smile.

 

First things first. Once they are out of sight of the others, Mike offers Lucas his hand, knowing that he isn‘t one for physical affection like Will or Dustin. That is also why he didn‘t attempt to hug Max. She would have just kicked his balls. „I drew first blood.“

 

„Literally.“ Lucas agrees. „And I didn‘t draw blood at all.“ He laughs, shaking Mike‘s hand, though. „Dude, that‘s enough with the apologies, okay? I mean, the first three letters I got from you had _sorry_ in every sentence.“

 

„How are you guys all so cool about this? You could be dead right now.“ _How can you still sleep at night? How do you still want me around?_ Shouldn‘t Mike be over these questions? After half a year of therapy, pills, letters, apologies. The truth is, the guilt will remain for as long as Will‘s and Lucas‘ scars.

 

„Yeah, but I‘m not dead, and now I got a cool scar and thousands of stories I can make up about how I got it. Like, fighting an armed robber to protect a bunch of babies. Or a burglar at my house.“

 

„A drunk guy at a bar who talked shit about your girl.“ Mike smirks. „Or your paranoid psycho friend with a knife?“ he suggests half-heartedly.

 

„Not that.“ Lucas firmly shakes his head. „No one knows, no one will ever know. Remember the story we made up?“

 

Of course Mike remembers. The very first letter the Party sent him, one that he didn‘t open until two months after it arrived, explained everything. It is a fairly simple cover-up story, but ultimately believable. It‘s just his luck that Chief Powell agreed to play along to spare Mike being publicly labeled a dangerous, deranged psycho with a tendency to use whatever weapon he can find to cut open some people. „Sure. I became sick, I was brought to the hospital, you guys were all in a rush to come see me and crashed your bikes. Explains the injuries.“

 

„See? No one‘s gonna suspect a thing if we stick to it.“ With a triumphant grin he adds „My idea, by the way. Have you figured out a cover up for what happened to you? Like, people at school seriously believe you have cancer or something. The new haircut won‘t help with that.“

 

That‘s, admittedly, something Mike has pondered on a lot lately. What people think about him. Well, there‘s his answer. Cancer. But is that really so bad? In the end, it‘s a perfectly good explanation for being absent for five months.

 

„So? Cancer isn‘t contagious. So yeah, maybe I had cancer. But, I mean, I‘m just not gonna say anything if people ask me, I guess. None of their business.“ Mike bites his lip. „I‘m... I... Just... thank you for this, Lucas. I know people are gonna talk anyways, but this is... at least they‘re not gonna call me a psycho.“

 

„Which you totally aren‘t.“ Lucas raises an eyebrow.

 

„Which I totally am.“ Mike scoffs. „I mean, you have no idea how many pills I had to take every day when I hit my all time low.“

 

„If you say so.“ Lucas snickers. „I guess having a psycho for a friend is pretty cool. Like, you‘re the Hulk. If people knew they‘d never shove you around anymore. That was some superhuman shit you pulled there, you know that?“

 

„A kitchen knife and a bit of shouting? I don‘t know.“ Loud laughter from the living room rings in Mike‘s ear. „We‘re... we‘re cool, right?“

 

„We‘re cool.“ Lucas confirms. „We missed you from day one, dude. Let‘s just go back, okay? It‘s Will‘s birthday.“

 

„I... yeah. Sure. Let‘s do that.“ This is just too weird. Just seconds from now, Mike is going to sit in the Byers‘ living room with his friends. They‘re going to talk, joke, watch Will open his presents, and as it looks now, no one is going to mention anything about what happened. What a surreal concept, suddenly being subjected to a world that isn‘t defined by last year‘s events.

 

„Okay.“ Mike can hear Dustin sigh in Will‘s direction as he comes back into the living room. „Kermit is a frog.“

 

„Yeah... I know.“ Will mumbles.

 

„Miss Piggy is a pig.“

 

„Uh... yeah.“

 

Dustin then goes on one of his signature rants, completely drowning out Will‘s weak protest. „But the Swedish Chef is a human, isn‘t he? And, like, the Muppets sometimes interact with humans. Real humans. So what do these people think? Do they know they‘re talking to Muppets? Does that mean they see the puppeteer under the table and think _‚shit, that guy is crazy‘_? Or do they think these things are real animals, in which case they must mistake the Swedish Chef for a real human. And then what, do they think _‚yeah, that‘s what people from Sweden look like‘_? I swear, dude, that‘s all so messed up, I don‘t even wanna think about it.“

 

Lucas is in on it the second Dustin is done talking. „Remember when _Return of the Jedi_ was released, and you couldn‘t stop rambling about how Vader lied when he told Luke he was his father until literally the second Yoda confirmed it?“

 

„Yeah.“ Dustin shoots back. „And I had every reason to believe he lied. Even Luke wasn‘t sure if Vader told the truth.“

 

„So?“

 

„So I‘m about as intelligent as Luke Skywalker, thank you very much.“

 

Mike would have laughed. But now he is thinking about Sweden. People from Sweden. Mike‘s second cousin from Sweden. Damn it.

 

„Hey, Mike.“ Dustin says. „You okay, man?“

 

„I...“ Mike coughs. „Yeah. Yeah, I‘m good. Let‘s not talk about me being weird, okay? Isn‘t it time for presents?“

 

„Did I hear presents?“ Mrs Byers‘ voice suddenly comes chiming down the hall. She appears in the doorframe seconds later. „Finally! Jonathan!“ she shouts. „Get the camera!“

 

 

* * *

 

Jonathan keeps on ignoring Mike. He doesn‘t do it demonstratively, that‘s not the kind of person he is. If Mike were to try and say hello to him, he‘d not just turn his head and look the other way. But just as Jonathan isn‘t taking any joy in ignoring Mike, Mike wouldn‘t take any joy in being intrusive, or in embarrassing him. Will‘s opinion on his brother‘s behavior is clearly disapproving, even if he hides it.

 

Regardless, Mike can‘t change things; Jonathan is obviously having a hard time, and he probably has had for months. If anything, Mike should regret putting him through this by being here. There is this faint idea blooming in the back of his head; Should he just take Jonathan out back, poke him a little until he throws a punch at him? Maybe that would relieve that palpable tension.

 

Well, starting a fight with Jonathan on his first day back with his friends probably isn‘t a bright idea. And, to his credit, aside from not batting an eye about Mike, Jonathan is the caring older brother he always was. He takes two or more photos of Will with every single present, from smallest to largest. Mike‘s friend sometimes rolls his eyes at what he unpacks.

 

The obligatory shirts and jeans first, because no one likes getting clothes for their birthday, even if they‘re not second-hand for once, and actually pretty sharp looking. Will still looks grateful. Sometimes Mike thinks the Byers family‘s lack of money has made them all just that much closer to each other.

 

Things get considerably better rather quickly, though. Will is always short at drawing utensils, so the boxes of pencils, colors and drawing paper are a welcome surprise to him. No doubt, he is going to put them to good use later on.

 

„Okay.“ Jonathan eventually says, grinning like an idiot at the one, large box that is left. „That one. Open it.“

 

„Jeez.“ Will grunts, trying to lift the neatly wrapped box onto the table. „It‘s heavy!“ Jonathan has to lend him a hand for that, before quickly returning to his pointing the camera right at his little brother.

 

„The heavier, the better.“ he declares. „That‘s quality stuff you‘re getting. Okay, a hint first: Bob picked it out.“

 

Will frowns a bit. „Then shouldn‘t I wait for him to be here before I open it?“

 

„Wait until Monday?“ Joyce cuts in. „Not gonna happen, young man. Why do you think your brother is taking photos?“

 

This has Will eyeing the small crowd around him. Mike can only speak for himself, but he feels just as anxious about the box as Will looks. His friend takes another moment to contemplate, but obviously realizes no one needs his good intentions right now. Right as Mike wants to tell Will it‘s _his_ birthday, and he can do whatever the hell he wants, he begins ripping the sparkling red wrapping off the box.

 

Jonathan‘s camera flash blinds Mike momentarily, so he only rely on Will‘s gasp to know this is a good present. It‘s only seconds later, when the bright white spots have disappeared from his vision, that he recognizes it as a boxed Sony stereo.

 

„Mom! How much did-“ Will squeals, but his mother just won‘t have it.

 

„We‘re not mentioning the M-word on birthdays.“ she snaps. „You know the rule. Just let Jonathan talk you through it, okay?“

 

Turning his attention to Jonathan, Will gulps audibly. „I just thought it sucks that I took my stereo to New York. Can‘t leave you here with this flimsy boombox.“ his older brother explains. „You can play CDs, record from CD to tape, from radio to tape, you could hook up mom‘s record player and record from there, or connect a microphone.“

 

CDs. That‘s impressive, Mike thinks. That would make Will the only person he knows who owns a CD-player. As a pretty much brand new format, this thing must have been really expensive. Especially with those large speakers. As if Jonathan is reading Mike‘s mind, he says „If you turn this up to full volume it‘s probably gonna crack a few windows. And your eardrums. So be careful.“ He then shoots a few more photos of Will grinning like an idiot.

 

„Alright.“ Jonathan sets the camera down. „I think that‘s all. Except...“

 

His implying tone has Will blushing slightly. Mike is well aware of how embarrassed he gets when everything is about him. He still deserves the attention and the fancy new stuff.

 

„Except, you didn‘t get anything from me yet.“ his older brother goes on.

 

„That‘s...“ Will bites his lip. Mike almost wants to laugh. It looks like Jonathan is saving the best for last.

 

„I‘m gonna have to get it.“ Jonathan then leaves them all in nervous tension, heading for his former room, which is actually more of a guest room by now. There is nothing left in there that would make it his room. The posters are gone, the stereo, the camera equipment, all relocated to some New York apartment.

 

The box he eventually brings back is so characteristically shaped, there is no doubt as to what‘s in there. Which is why he probably kept it hidden until now. Will‘s eyes light up at the sight of the terribly dinged up guitar he pulls from the box. „Holy crap!“

 

„New York is a good place to find one of these.“ Jonathan smirks. „Getting a left handed guitar in Hawkins is about as hard as getting a man on the moon. In New York stores are full of these. The guy showed me how to tune it, but that‘s about all I can teach you.“

 

Will marvels at the guitar for a long time. Mike believes to know what his friend is thinking. There are scratches all over the top and back, all in all it looks pretty pitiful, and that‘s just awesome in its own right. Beat up and cheap as it is, this guitar at least doesn‘t look like a beginner‘s instrument.

 

„That would make you the first party member with a non-loser hobby.“ Lucas comments. „Good job breaking free, Byers.“

 

Until now, Mike only knew how much Will always wanted to get into music. He has talked a lot about picking up an instrument for years, but nothing ever came of it. Seeing him like this, though, is nothing short of breathtaking.

 

„Wow.“ Max laughs, when he finally rests the guitar in his lap like he is supposed to. „Looks like a perfect fit.“

 

Exactly that. Anyone who has ever seen Will with a pencil and a sheet of paper instantly recognized that _perfect fit_. A complete stranger could look at Will like that and think _‚Yeah, that kid knows what he‘s doing.‘_ The same sense of belonging also present with Will and the guitar.

 

Even as Will declares „I... I think I know how to play E minor.“, and then proceeds to make the instrument buzz painfully with two fingers. If Mike could just stick cotton down his ears and block off the painful noise, Will would still look like a musician. When it comes to sounding like one, well, no one is born a master.

 

While Jonathan is busy taking photo after photo, Will‘s mom just beams at him. „I‘m gonna try finding a teacher for you, honey. Someone in this town got to know how to play this.“

 

Mike is happy to say, he now has a few ideas as to what he could get Will as a late birthday present. He‘s going to have to go to the mall next week.

 

 

* * *

 

„Hey, are we gonna meet up at your place tomorrow?“ Lucas asks casually. His hands are shoved down his pockets. Leaning against the front door from the inside, he is waiting for his mother to pick him, Max and Dustin up. It‘s been a long afternoon, but ultimately too short for Mike‘s taste. Too short to catch up with everything. Too short to entirely reconnect. Just barely long enough to get the awkwardness of this whole situation out of his system.

 

„Come by whenever you want.“ Mike nods, still asking himself how in the world he deserves his amazing friends. „I think my mom misses the extra life around the house.“

 

„I know.“ Lucas chuckles. „She told us more than once.“

 

„Oh yeah?“ Mike raises an eyebrow.

 

„Yeah, dude.“ Dustin speaks up. „I mean, she literally invited us in every time we came to ask about you.“

 

„Which was almost every day.“ Mike knows this, and it still makes his insides churn a little. „Hope she didn‘t get on your nerves too much.“

 

„She didn‘t cry if that‘s what you want to know.“ Dustin leans over to squeeze Mike‘s shoulder. „Actually we never talked too much about you. More like, casual stuff. School. Our grades. Your mom knows me better than my own mother now.“

 

„Then just let me know if you wanna move in, I guess.“ Mike quips. „I-“ The sound from a car pulling up outside cuts him short.

 

„Hm?“

 

„Just... thanks for keeping her company. You didn‘t see her back at the hospital. That was...“

 

„Hey.“ Max complains, pointing at the door. „I think we gotta go. And didn‘t we agree, we don‘t talk about this crap anymore?“

 

„Okay, you‘re right.“ Mike agrees. He lets Dustin hug him once again, with all the bone-crushing strength he can muster. To his surprise, though, Lucas and Max both briefly hug him too. They say their goodbyes to Will in the same way, before shouting a quick „Goodbye“ over to Mrs Byers and Jonathan. Then they scramble off into the fresh spring air. The sun is hanging low, casting warm, comforting light across the clearing in the woods where the Byers‘ house is located.

 

Mike remains standing in the door, frozen. His makes eye contact with Lucas‘ mom. From behind the wheel of her station wagon she smiles at him, waving. The feeling equals that of an elevator stopping. It‘s as though his insides are lifted for a short period of time. Maybe they will talk about things later on. Mrs Sinclair deserves the same apology Mrs Byers got from him. Not tonight, though.

 

Mike turns back to Will. His friend is watching him curiously, head slightly leaned to the left. „You okay?“

 

„Yeah. I mean, it‘s weird, isn‘t it?“ Mike gulps.

 

„What‘s weird.“

 

„I didn‘t think about Lucas‘ parents. I‘m gonna talk to them later. I... have to, right?“

 

„You want to.“ Will notes. „I get it. I‘d want that too. But they‘re okay, really. Like my mom. So you can really, _really_ let this stuff rest now. I‘m getting sick of it.“ He shows Mike a crooked smile.

 

„Then... let‘s talk about something else.“ Mike proposes. „You... didn‘t invite-“

 

„It‘s not because of you.“ Will says, somewhat defensively. It sounds like he really doesn‘t want to talk about Wesley, whom he has really only mentioned once before, during his Christmas-visit at the hospital. Mike never asked in his letters and Will never mentioned him. Mike still thinks it was the right thing to do, given that all those letters had to be read and approved of by hospital staff. The nurses and doctors didn‘t need to know that Will is gay, with a gay boyfriend and everything that comes with it.

 

„That‘s okay. I mean, you didn‘t- you didn‘t think it‘d last forever.“

 

„It just sorta cooled off a little.“ Will shrugs. „Maybe we both just wanted to know what kissing feels like. Or maybe we just thought we had to be together because we‘re the only gay guys at school.“

 

„I don‘t think you‘re the only ones.“ Mike returns. „But how are you supposed to find out, right?“

 

„Right. I can‘t just walk around asking guys if they wanna go on a date with me.“ Will laughs. „How weird would that be?“

 

„Shouldn‘t be weirder than a guy asking a girl.“

 

„But it is...“ Will bites his lips, sinking into a thoughtful silence for a while. „We‘re still talking about stuff I don‘t wanna talk about.“

 

„I know. Sorry.“ Mike sighs. „You know, maybe I should just call home and tell my mom to pick me up. It‘s getting kinda late and I really can‘t stay overnight. She wants me home and I kinda... kinda gotta learn how to sleep in my own bed again.“

 

„Really? That‘s a thing?“

 

„You‘d be surprised. I spent last night on the couch. I‘m not used to being that comfortable anymore.“ Mike takes a few steps past Will to the living room. „I‘m gonna have to use your phone.“

 

„Okay. I mean, I thought you were gonna use the force to contact her, but, whatever.“

 

Mike is about to pick up the wall-mounted phone when Mrs Byers comes around the corner. „You‘re gonna leave too, sweetie?“ she asks him.

 

„Yeah. Just gonna call my mom to pick me up.“ Mike informs her. But he doesn‘t get to dial home before being interrupted once again.

 

Jonathan‘s footsteps are heavier than Mrs Byers‘ and easily recognizable to Mike. He has heard him come down the stairs to his basement too many times. „I‘m gonna drive you home.“ he says sternly. It‘s not an offer, more of a factual statement. Jonathan probably realizes how that sounded, so he quickly adds „If you want me to.“

 

First, Mike is at a loss for words. It‘s such a causal acknowledgment of his presence. Jonathan doesn‘t smile, but that‘s about all that is different about him now. „O-okay.“ Mike answers after a while. „That‘s okay.“ He hangs up the phone again, then shoots Will a gaze.

 

„I‘m pretty much ready.“ Jonathan says, rattling with his keychain.

 

„Wait a second, honey. I‘m gonna get your tablet.“ She quickly hurries to the kitchen to bring back the tablet Mike carried the cake on.

 

Mike uses the time to say goodbye to Will. That results in another long hug, and while Mike can‘t be sure, he suspects it‘s as much meant for Jonathan as it is for Mike. It might be to prove a point to him. What Mike does know is that Will shoots his brother a disapproving gaze once the two of them break it up. And that seems to work, to some degree. Jonathan stares at his own feet shamefully.

 

It‘s a more than unpleasant situation all in all, because the tension between Mike and Will‘s brother hasn‘t quite dissolved. It has just become more apparent. Lucky for everyone, Mrs Byers comes back with the tablet. She too hugs Mike, and while she might not do it to give Jonathan a hint, it still further enforces the message: Mike is welcome here. And he couldn‘t be more grateful for that.

 

It‘s time to get going then. Jonathan‘s car is as beat-up as ever. It even has Mike wondering how this thing even made the trip from New York back to Hawkins. At least on the outside it‘s more rust and dents than car. On the inside, well, it doesn‘t look a whole lot better. The seats are stitched up in some places, and held together by heavy-duty duct tape in others.

 

That‘s not to say Mike would judge anything about this car. It‘s what Jonathan can afford, and so far the old Ford has served him well. How many trips has the party taken in this over the years? Too many to count, perhaps. And Mike had always felt safe with Jonathan behind the wheel.

 

Now, he doesn‘t quite feel safe. Not because he somehow lost faith in Jonathan‘s ability to avoid accidents. His unease is more caused by the stone-cold silence that has ensued between him and Will‘s older brother. The path from the Byers‘ house to the main road has to be taken slow. It‘s hardly more than a trail, and in the rainy months it‘s muddy on top of that, with plenty opportunities for cars to just slide off it and hit a tree.

 

At the end of it, Jonathan turns left. Mike gulps. „Hey... uh... that‘s not-“

 

„I know.“ Jonathan sighs. „Getting you home would take what, five minutes? I need ten.“

 

Ten minutes? For what does he need ten minutes? Is that how long it‘s going to take him to strangle Mike? To slowly suffocate him, watch the life slowly drain from his body? The thought is certainly frightening, but Mike is in no real danger, he knows that. Jonathan might not be as forgiving as his mother. That doesn‘t make him a murderer, though. Still, he looks like he‘d just love to punch Mike in the face and leave an ugly bruise as a reminder of exactly whose brother he almost killed.

 

„Who am I supposed to blame?“ Jonathan sounds pleading, lost, frustrated.

 

„Me?“ Mike quickly suggests. „I mean, it‘s not like I didn‘t do it.“

 

„Yeah, but... how can I blame you if I know that it wasn‘t your fault? If it was your fault, they would‘ve sent you to jail, right?“

 

„I mean, it‘d only be fair.“ Mike shrugs.

 

„What?“ Jonathan asks. „You going to jail, or me blaming you?“

 

„Both.“

 

„You‘re wrong.“ For a few seconds, Jonathan seems to be thinking hard about what to say next. „Look, if you get the flu, that‘s... that‘s not your fault. And maybe you sneeze, or you cough, or whatever, and someone else catches it, that‘s not your fault either, right.“

 

„That‘s not-“ Mike tries unsuccessfully.

 

„It _is_ the same thing. You were sick, you hurt people. That‘s what a sickness does, right?“ Jonathan takes a deep breath, and it looks a bit like he is desperately trying to get order into his mess of a mind. Mike knows what it looks like because it is the same expression that he saw in the mirror before and after every shower for months.

 

Mike makes another attempt. „It‘s okay if you blame me.“

 

„It‘s not. I want to blame you. I really do. But it‘s not okay. Just give me someone else I can hate. Please.“

 

„There‘s no one but me. Unless you wanna make it Will‘s fault.“ Mike half-jokes.

 

Jonathan grits his teeth at that. An all but frightening growl escapes him, but it‘s not directed at Mike. More at himself. „He already thinks I‘m doing that. Did he tell you?“

 

„Yeah.“ Mike admits. „Don‘t be mad at him. He couldn‘t possibly know what was gonna happen.“

 

„No. He couldn‘t.“ Jonathan agrees. „So I can‘t even tell him what he did was reckless.“

 

„So you can‘t blame me. You can‘t blame Will, or the other guys. Then what are you gonna do?“ Mike smiles weakly to himself for some odd reason he couldn‘t explain even if he tried. Maybe this whole situation just seems a little ridiculous to him.

 

Jonathan might be constantly boiling inside, but he smiles too. „Dunno. Get drunk?“

 

„Yeah, no. That‘s not gonna help.“

 

„You know, for someone who‘s been at a mental hospital for so long, you‘re not exactly a good psychiatrist.“ Jonathan chuckles.

 

„You ever been to one?“ Mike asks. „Because that‘s exactly what they do. Tell you what you shouldn‘t do, kinda get you to find your own solutions.“

 

„Even in your case?“

 

„I- uh- no. I guess they did more for me. But if you‘re just depressed or afraid...“ Mike puts the word ‚just‘ in quotation marks with his fingers, because he knows that there‘s not ‚just‘ about depression or anxiety „...they‘re more or less gonna drug you and let you talk. I was different. I could‘ve... killed people.“

 

„But I don‘t hate you for it. If that helps.“ Jonathan clears his throat. „Will trusts you. Still does. You were the first one he came out to.“

 

Mike recognizes the last corner they have to take before they‘re going to reach his house. It approaches fast, so they‘re going to have to wrap this up. „So what are we gonna do?“

 

„We‘re not gonna do anything.“ Jonathan shakes his head. „I got a problem. Sorry I bothered you with that. I‘m just gonna have to deal with it. Like you dealt with your problems, I guess.“ The car slows down gradually, making some mildly worrying squeaking and rattling sounds. As far as Mike can see, it hasn‘t lost any vital parts though.

 

At the risk of maybe sounding weird or too intrusive, Mike makes one last suggestion. He feels he might be obliged to help. „Have you talked to your mom lately?“

 

Jonathan smiles at him, this time it‘s closer to the expression Mike is used from his best friend‘s brother. „I probably should, shouldn‘t I? Say hello to your sister from me, okay?“

 

„Yeah, I don‘t think Holly knows who you are.“ Mike jokes, pulling the passenger side door open. „You‘re going back to New York soon?“

 

„Tomorrow.“ Jonathan nods.

 

„See you in the summer then, I guess. Bye.“ Mike sees him off. He walks right across the front lawn, feeling like he might actually get a good night‘s sleep.

 

A few feet away from the car, he turns back to find Jonathan waving. Like that, his hopes for tonight are shattered. He almost trips over his own feet when he sees the ugly, long scar that adorns Jonathan‘s palm. The _scar_! Where did he get it? It can‘t be. No, it really can‘t be. Mike must have seen it before at some point. That must be it. He must have seen it, and then incorporated it into his sick fantasy.

 

His mind can settle on this explanation for now, and Mike concludes he shouldn‘t ask Nancy to let him see her palm. What good would it do anyways? Sure, it might give him the comfortable certainty that he is fine now. Or it might just be another reminder of the horrible shit he went through. Mike doesn‘t need that risk. He decides to just get inside, hug his mom, and watch TV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, let me know what you think, I guess.  
> Yell at me for taking so long with the update if you want.
> 
> One last thing: I don't know how frequently the next updates are gonna come. But they ARE coming, I promise.


	17. Starcourt Mall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, this turned out pretty long, clocking in at 6000+ words. It's less conversation than usual, but I'm actually pretty happy with this chapter.
> 
> We're cranking up the mystery-dial to 11 here (pun intended)

_March 24_

 

_It‘s around midnight. I‘m really tired, but I just can‘t sleep in my bed. It‘s still way too comfortable. I know it‘s not ok to sleep on the couch for the third night in a row, but if I want to sleep at all, I don‘t think I have a choice._

 

_I don‘t really know where this comes from. I got used to a hospital bed pretty quick, so why can‘t I go back to something more comfortable? Maybe I‘m thinking too much. Everything here reminds me of Eleven, and it‘s getting on my nerves now. There are just so many details I never thought about at the hospital. We just focused on the big things. Everything that turned up in the police reports. It‘s just that I invented all these little things that only I know about, and now I have to deal with them on my own._

 

_I think I‘m going to go downstairs now and watch TV. Maybe I can come back to my room later. I‘ll try not to fall asleep on the couch tonight. My parents haven‘t said anything yet, but I guess they also think it‘s not good for me._

 

That‘s all he can manage to write down tonight. Mike knows Barnes is going to read it, and they‘re going to talk about it, and that will make it better in the end. But it‘s still going to be almost two weeks of this before he gets to talk to the doctor again. Until then, there is nothing for him to do but try. Try to get his reeling mind to shut up for once.

 

A long, frustrated sigh escapes Mike as he slams the pen down on his desk. He immediately flinches, listening to the sounds of the house. Nothing. He considers himself lucky; That could have woken everyone up. His mom would have been understanding, telling him it‘s okay to be frustrated, and to need time to accommodate to this new-old living situation.

 

His dad would have complained, but probably ultimately been indulgent. He really tries his best to be just a bit more open and attentive. This especially shows in how he behaves around Holly nowadays. Mike can‘t remember seeing him carry her on his shoulders. Well, he does now, sometimes, and she couldn‘t be happier about it.

 

Holly would have been a bit cranky at being woken up in the middle of the night. A toddler can go to sleep in virtually any position, at virtually any time of day, though, and she likely wouldn‘t even remember in the morning.

 

As for Nancy, well, she would have been pissed, but only because Mike told her he doesn‘t want her to behave differently around him. He doesn‘t want to be pampered. If his older sister wants to complain about being robbed of sleep just hours before her lengthy train ride back to Boston, so be it. For a second he even contemplates waking her up just to get that glimpse of normality.

 

Being shouted at by his sister. How awesome would that be? He can‘t bring himself to do it, though, instead opting to sneak downstairs once again. He did it after coming home. He did it the night after Will‘s birthday. Now, on his third night, about four hours until his friends left the house to prepare for another week of school, he does it again. It‘s the usual drill by now. Nothing he can keep up for too long, though, seeing as Mike will have to go back to school too, eventually.

 

Not tomorrow, though, so Mike carefully pulls the chair back, sneaks out of his room and downstairs to sit down on the couch with a relieved exhale. In his bed he would sink down twice as deep. To Mike that now feels like being crushed from all sides. No, the couch is really the only option to rest without feeling this terrible heat and restlessness boiling up his blood.

 

The TV clicks at the flick of a button and flickers into life. The volume turned down to a mere whisper, Mike skips through the channels. A lot of them actually don‘t broadcast during this time of night. He can‘t even count how many test cards with all the colors of the rainbow and patterns of black and white he gets to see in between re-runs of old sitcoms, documentaries or soap-operas.

 

Click. Click. Click. Click. Mike sighs. Isn‘t his just ridiculous? A vast amount of TV stations at his fingertips, but nothing seems worth watching. Nothing but...

 

„ _...almost halfway to the nearest star. Occasionally, one falls in, accelerated by the sun‘s gravity. Because it is made mostly of ice, a comet begins to evaporate as it approaches the sun...“_ the familiar, calming voice of Carl Sagan whispers from the TV speaker.

 

Smiling contently, Mike leans back, pulls his legs up to fold them in front of himself, and then just allows the renowned astronomer to talk him through the paths of the planets, through the ancient craters meteoroids have left behind on the moon, even diving into the more down-to-earth aspects of these cosmic objects. What did people in ancient times think when a meteor hit? Which gods did they pray to when such an explosion shook the earth underneath their feet?

 

 _Cosmos_... It brings back so many good memories. Memories from its original run so many years ago. Mike was just nine years old. He smiles to himself, seeing the mental image of himself, Will, Dustin and Lucas huddled up in front of the old black-and-white TV his parents set up for them in the basement. A single blanket fit around all of them. Dustin was the _‚new guy‘_ back then, Mike thinks. Still, there was no doubt, he belonged to the three established friends.

 

Still smiling, feeling something like nostalgia for a few days in October of 1980, less than six years ago, Mike closes his eyes and listens.

 

He remembers being utterly fascinated at how the distance between the Earth and the moon can be determined so accurately, that astronomers can even measure a gentle sway in the moon‘s path.

 

All this knowledge, and Mike also remembers how it was never enough. How he and his three friends spent nights discussing everything that is, or could be out there. Planets made solely out of gas, thunderstorms greater than the entire Earth, life. Spaceships. The Force. Telekinesis. Well, maybe it _does_ exist somewhere in the depths of space.

 

Lazily, Mike‘s eyes open again. He heard something. Noise that didn‘t come from the TV. It sounded more like something moving upstairs. Mike perks up, waiting, listening. Footsteps on the stairs. This time, it‘s definitely not Holly, unless his five year old sister has put on a hundred or more pounds overnight. It can‘t be Nancy either. Mike‘s older sister would be more careful not to wake anyone up.

 

Soon, Mike‘s dad shambles by. Clad in his pajamas, feet nested in slippers, he trots past the entrance to the living room with half-closed eyes, and then disappears in the kitchen. Smirking to himself, Mike watches the doorframe. For now, he has stopped listening to Mr Sagan.

 

Mike‘s dad isn‘t exactly quiet when he apparently pours himself a bowl of cereal with Milk. Plastic rustles, the fridge opens, liquid splutters, the flatware drawer rattles open and shut, the fridge closes. And like that, in a matter of less than a minute, Ted Wheeler is walking by the living room once again, without even noticing Mike or the running TV.

 

His footsteps on the stairs stop abruptly, though. Like in some Bill Murray comedy movie, he appears again, walking backwards, eyebrows raised.

 

For a while, Mike and his dad look at each other. „Can‘t sleep?“ he finally asks.

 

„No.“ Mike shrugs. „I don‘t think mom would want you eating in bed.“ He points at the bowl of cereal his father is holding with one hands.

 

Dad takes a spoon full. Chewing with his mouth open, because who needs manners in the middle of the night, he comes into the living room. „Good point. She usually doesn‘t find out, but why take the risk...“

 

„Usually.“ Mike snorts as his father sits down on the couch. „Is that what getting old is like?“

 

„Hey, watch that attitude, son.“ dad scolds half-heartedly. „It‘s gonna happen to you too. One day you‘re pulling off cartwheels, next thing you know you go to the bathroom five times every night. At least I got a good reason to be up.“

 

„You think I don‘t?“ Mike challenges. „I‘d like to get some sleep.“

 

„Well-“ Dad stares at the TV thoughtfully. Mike tries not to chuckle at the attempt go come up with good advice. He was never good at that. But, to his credit, he is trying. „Give it some time.“

 

That‘s something Mike can agree to. „Can‘t do anything more, can I?“

 

It‘s a bit like dad doesn‘t even listen anymore. His eyes are suddenly narrowed on the TV. Mike sighs heavily, falling back into silence. For a minute or two, the only sounds are Carl Sagan‘s vivid explanations of the solar system, and dad‘s crunching cereal. „You know, I met that guy once.“ he says abruptly.

 

„Who, Carl Sagan?“ Mike asks with utter disbelief. „You haven‘t.“

 

„I‘m telling you.“ dad says, as if meeting Carl Sagan wasn‘t even a big deal. „Must have been what, ten years ago? Hotel bar in St. Louis. Back when I had to review cases on site. Was the first time I exposed a fraud. Guy set his own car on fire to tap the insurance, and-“

 

„Dad?“

 

„Hm?“

 

„What about Carl Sagan?“

 

„Oh yeah.“ He reaches up to adjust his glasses, only to find he‘s not even wearing them. „Yeah, I spent a night at a hotel and went for a drink at the bar, and there he was. I mean, I didn‘t know who he was at the time.“

 

„And?“ Mike asks, eager to get as much information about this as he can.

 

„And what?“ his dad returns. „I didn‘t know who he was. We just had a talk, strangers meeting at a bar, that‘s all.“ These words cause Mike to deflate slightly. „What did you expect, son? He drinks his beer just like any other man.“

 

That sounds entirely logical, admittedly. Mike doesn‘t know what he expected, but a random encounter with Carl Sagan at a bar in St Louis really might not be that big of a deal. No one ever said he has to go on explaining the world to people in his free time.

 

„Hey, what‘s with all the metric mumbo-jumbo?“ dad complains after a while of watching. „Can‘t he speak American like everyone else?“

 

„That‘s science.“ Mike huffs. „Science works in the metric system.“

 

„Hope this doesn‘t mess with your head. Can‘t have you talking about kilometers when I‘m teaching you to drive.“

 

Oh yeah. Mike didn‘t even think about this for the last couple of months. A grin steals on his face while his father empties his bowl. „I can get my learner‘s permit if I want...“

 

„Yeah. And I‘m gonna have to make sure you don‘t crash and kill a bunch of people.“ dad says nonchalantly. „Don‘t worry, son, it‘s not that hard.“

 

„I... I guess.“ Mike shrugs. „I mean, lots of idiots can do it, right?“

 

His dad lets out a short burst of laughter. „I should cut back on complaining while driving.“

 

„Nah, it‘s good. I'm gonna take a few weeks to get settled in anyways. At least I already know how _not_ to drive. Should be enough to get me to school and back.“ Mike ponders.

 

„Don‘t underestimate it, Michael. You got a lot to learn. But that‘s what I‘m here for. So...“

 

„So...“ Mike repeats, not unfamiliar with the situation. Neither of them know exactly how to proceed. One topic dealt with, no topics left. „Don‘t you have to get up early?“

 

„Yeah. And you don‘t.“ dad remarks. „Any plans for tomorrow?“

 

„I guess I‘m gonna go to the mall. Get a late birthday present for Will, y‘know.“

 

„And maybe spend a bit of that pent up allowance?“

 

„Not really. It‘s more like... like...“ Mike bites his lips. His dad isn‘t good at this; talking about Mike‘s problems, his concerns and fears. Well, maybe he should just give it a shot. „It‘s more like I wanna go out there again. Like, have lots of people around, lots of open space... without losing my sh- uh... you know.“

 

„Oh.“ Dad turns silent. Mike is already beginning to think this was a mistake, when he says „Oh yeah. Must be hard, huh?“

 

„Sorta. I just don‘t wanna be uncomfortable around people when I go back to school.“

 

„Want your mother to come with?“

 

„No.“ Mike shrugs it off. „She won‘t be there at school either. And she‘s gonna take Nancy to Indy in the morning, isn‘t she?“

 

„So you think you‘re- you‘re up to the task?“ dad asks carefully.

 

„I have to be, I mean-“

 

„And who said that? Who said that this has to work all at once? No wonder you can‘t sleep if you stress yourself about this. Wanna know what people are gonna think when they see you?“

 

„Yeah? I guess?“ Mike half-answers, half-asks.

 

„Nothing.“ his dad grunts. „Sorry, but it‘s true. They care about you less than you care about them. You‘re just another face in the crowd.“

 

„I... um... wow.“ Mike says quietly. The last thing he expected was this level of understanding. „That‘s actually... pretty good.“

 

„Yeah, well don‘t forget it then.“ Dad yawns once, and since yawning is contagious, Mike does too. „Are you gonna sleep in your bed tonight?“

 

Mike blinks sleepily, feeling his heart growing a bit heavier again. „Do I have a choice?“ Probably not. But Mike thinks he should have a choice. Sleeping on the couch at night, sleeping in the La-Z-Boy all day, what‘s the difference?

 

His dad sighs. In a rare gesture of support, he pats Mike‘s shoulder roughly. „At least get yourself a proper blanket. And shut off the TV. I‘m gonna try and get you a thinner mattress tomorrow, if you think that helps.“

 

„T-thanks. I think it‘s worth a shot. What‘s that gonna-“

 

„Cost? Michael, the day a man can‘t provide for his family anymore, he might as well bury himself. We need a guest bed in the basement anyways. Your friends live here half of the time.“

 

„Yeah.“ Mike chuckles. He wouldn‘t have it any other way. „I‘ll get my blanket and turn off the TV, okay?“

 

„Good. Good.“ Dad gets up from the couch that creaks slightly at the loss of weight. He leads the way upstairs with Mike following, this time not caring about keeping the volume down. If Nancy wakes up and decides to make a scene, he can just blame it on their father, easy as that.

 

When Mike emerges from his room again, pillow and blanket in hand, his dad is still waiting for him. „At least you‘re gonna get some _quality_ sleep now.“ he notes. „Goodnight, Michael.“

 

„Night, dad.“ Mike whispers wearily, before getting on the way downstairs again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Five year old Holly giggles, trying to wiggle out of the grip of her older sister when she receives just one too many kisses from her. Nancy holds her firmly, though, even beginning to tickle her stomach.

 

„Stop!“ Holly shrieks. „Stop, Nancy!“ Her cries must echo through the entire house, because after only a few seconds their mom comes stumbling down the stairs, the laundry basket in her hands.

 

„What‘s going on down here?“ she groans. „You‘re not arguing?“

 

„Mom, help!“ Holly snickers. „Help!“

 

But their mom only smiles fondly at her daughters. Mike watches the scene, smirking, patiently waiting his turn. „You know...“ he remarks „...you can say goodbye at the train station, right? I‘m not gonna be there with you.“

 

„Yeah. But at the train station, I can‘t eat my little sister.“ Nancy growls at Holly, pretending to bite her, which only makes the little girl giggle and shriek louder. „You know what, Holls?“

 

„What?“

 

Nancy casts Mike a mock-disapproving gaze. „I think our brother is jealous because he wants all the attention.“ Holly looks at Mike too, wrinkling her nose.

 

„Wait your turn, Mikey!“ she scolds.

 

„Aw, Holls.“ Nancy coos. „Don‘t be so hard on him. I mean, look at him. I think he needs a hug. What do you think?“

 

Really, a handshake would have probably done for Mike, but Nancy has decided, and when Nancy has made a decision, well, there‘s nothing Mike can do about it. So, his older sister carries his younger sister over to him, and brings one arm around Mike, holding Holly between them as they embrace.

 

„Still sorry I couldn‘t visit you for Christmas.“ she mumbles.

 

„Don‘t be.“ Mike sighs. „That way mom could bring Will, and- uh- that came out wrong, didn‘t it?“

 

„Nah. I know I can‘t help you the way your friends can. I‘m gonna miss you, Mikey.“

 

„Yeah, I‘m gonna miss you too.“ Mike desperately wants to shut off his pitiful sniffing, but it just doesn‘t work. For the few days Nancy was home, he had just been too caught up with reuniting with his friends to spend time with her. Since when does he want to spend time with Nancy anyways? „When will you be back?“

 

„Late June, I think. We‘ll have a whole month then.“ It‘s okay. Nancy sniffles against Mike‘s shoulder too. Being taller than her is still so damn weird.

 

„Bye, Nancy.“ Mike utters after a few seconds, for lack of better words.

 

„Yeah, bye, Mikey.“ Nancy presses a kiss to his cheek, and Mike knows immediately what is expected of him. To Holly‘s immense entertainment, he jumps back from her with a disgusted shout, and begins rubbing at his cheek as if trying to wipe off an infectious substance.

 

„Boys are so stupid.“ Holly proclaims.

 

Their mom, just coming up the stairs from the basement, picks up on it. „Exactly. So you better _never_ get involved with them, honey.“

 

„Listen to mom.“ Nancy laughs. „She knows what she‘s talking about.“

 

„So, are we ready?“ mom asks, scrambling around to find her purse and keys.

 

„Yeah.“ Nancy confirms. „Got everything here.“ Still trying to keep Holly up with one arm, she performs an acrobatic miracle in picking up the gigantic travel bag, filled with whatever girls need when they leave the house for a single weekend. Mike rolls his eyes at the sheer size of it. The combined weight of Holly and her bag has Nancy groaning.

 

Mike‘s mom hugs him too, just for good measure. „Holly and I are going to be back in two hours. And I want you home for lunch, okay?“

 

„I‘m not gonna camp at the mall, mom.“ Mike says, unnerved.

 

„I know. And you‘re not going to have a burger, or fries, or whatever. I‘m not cooking for nothing.“

 

„You‘re a great cook, mom.“ Mike grins. „Why would I need Burger King if I have you?“

 

His mom beams at him, then turns around and shoos her daughters out of the house and to the car. She waves at him. Holly does too, and for a moment, Mike actually dares to hope Nancy won‘t, once she has set down Holly and her bag. But she does. Yesterday Mike has successfully avoided looking at her too closely, but he can‘t just overlook this.

 

The _scar_! She has it too! Dammit, it‘s even larger than Jonathan‘s. Now, that‘s something Mike just can _not_ let rest until they meet again in the summer. In a split-second decision he runs up to the car before his mom gets a chance to pull out of the driveway.

 

Engine already running, she she rolls down her window to allow Mike to lean in. „Anything wrong, honey?“

 

„N-no. Not really.“ Mike feels a little jumpy, a little fearful, quite a bit _mad_. „Nancy, I just... where... where did you get that scar?“

 

„Scar?“ Nancy asks, a confused expression passing her face. „Scar... oh, you mean...“ She holds out her palm to him to show of that ugly, dark stripe. For a second or two, she looks at it. Her face turns worryingly blank, her eyes turn dull and absent. „Oh yeah.“ she eventually bursts out. „I think I used a dull knife to peel an orange, and then... well, this happened.“

 

„You _think_?“ Mike prods sharply.

 

„Michael, what‘s this about?“ his mom cuts in. „We really have to go, or your sister will miss her train.“

 

„Yeah... no... I get it.“ Mike steps back from the car. „Sorry I bothered you, I just thought... I never saw this, it looks kinda painful.“

 

„Okay. We‘re good then?“

 

„Yeah. Totally. Bye.“ Mike utters, turning around to see them off from the front door. He keeps his hands in his pockets, watching them smile at him for as long as it takes for mom to turn the car around. But even after they are off he watches the station wagon shrinking, until it disappears in the distance.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hawkins flies by in a blur of speed and wind. Mike can‘t help the grin that spreads on his face as he kicks the pedals of his new adult bike as hard as he can. _Yes_ , he thinks, _this is better_! Better than the old, way too small bike he had to suffer with for almost a year. Better than having to think too much.

 

He speeds down busy Mulberry Street, not even batting an eye as he passes the police station, where Chief Powell is probably sitting in his office right now. Should he talk to the Chief some time? After all, it was him who provided Barnes with all the necessary information. He even played a part in getting Mike into therapy, rather than juvenile hall. Maybe later. Maybe not at all. What‘s there to talk about anyways.

 

The joy of being able to ride his bike _this_ fast through puddles, across busy streets, past stores and houses is just too great to keep worrying. Mike even finds himself on a rather extensive detour. Starcourt Mall is located on the edge of town because there was just not enough empty space to build it anywhere near the center, so he has to bike down a mostly empty country road to get there.

 

The woods surround him for the first time in such a long time. They sway in the wind, crack with every movement, smell like home. It‘s weird how much of this Mike used to take for granted before he was forced away from all of it for a while.

 

In front of him, around a bend, a terribly slow car appears. He even manages to pass it with his bike, only to find a probably near-sighted grandma with giant, thick glasses behind the wheel of this beige Gremlin. She looks like she can barely see over the dashboard. Yeah, it‘s probably better for her to drive slowly.

 

Just as he has put a few feet behind himself and the Gremlin, though, a loud, imposing roar appears behind him. For a second Mike thinks the old lady has stepped on the accelerator on accident and is about to ram into him from behind, but looking back he recognizes the sound as that of yet another car. A shabby, orange pickup truck. Orange, or just rusted beyond recognition? Mike can‘t tell. All he knows is, the truck zooms past the old lady and him in a matter of seconds and then disappears behind another bend.

 

He can‘t blame the driver for scaring him. Mike probably would have done the same. It was either that, or being stuck behind a Gremlin, going fifteen miles an hour. Grinning again, Mike speeds up. Since the road makes a little dip here, he might even reach up to thirty miles and hour, laughing with excitement the whole way.

 

From there, it only takes five minutes until he pulls into the huge parking lot, that is empty for the most part. Well, it‘s only 9 in the morning. The majority of mall-regulars, high school kids, aren‘t even done with third period yet. And since it‘s so relatively empty, it‘s not even as imposing as Mike thought.

 

He quickly secures his bike to the rack just outside the main entrance, using the combination lock. 1-3-5-3-1. Does it matter that his combination is symmetrical? According to the laws of probability calculation, every combination he could use should have the same likelihood of being drawn from a pool of random numbers. So, no, his combination is okay.

 

Mike wipes some sweat from his forehead. Not as fit as he used to be, even with PE two times a week at the hospital. It just never could replace a good bike ride. Turning around, he lets his gaze wander across the parking lot once again. Near the entrance, he finds the beat up old pickup truck, that overtook him just minutes earlier. Someone is behind the wheel, judging from the gray clouds of cigarette smoke that puff from the driver‘s side window, that is rolled down only an inch. Mike can‘t see who it is, though, because the sun reflects blindingly from the glass. Whatever. And old farmer who doesn‘t want to cloud up the entire mall.

 

Just as the old Lady in the Gremlin pulls into the parking lot, Mike slips through the automatic sliding door underneath the large _‚Starcourt Mall‘_ logo, split into shiny metallic and pink neon letters.

 

The inside isn‘t exactly buzzing with life this early in the morning. Just being here, walking past the different stores and outlets, isn‘t even remotely exhausting or frightening. There is a little place for kitchen utilities, filled with a bulk of moms who probably just dropped off their kids at school an hour ago. People walk by, relaxed and without any hurry. And just like dad said last night, they pay Mike absolutely no mind.

 

So, Mike tries to allow himself to look straight ahead, ignore the people as much as they ignore him, and lo and behold, it actually works. Well, it works until he comes across the recently relocated RadioShack with its striking red logo. With its striking red logo, and Bob Newby behind the counter on the far side of the store. At first, Mike thinks he should just walk past. But maybe avoiding things isn‘t a good idea. He walks inside without hesitation.

 

Mr Newby soon peeks up from whatever paperwork he is filling out. His trademark smile, a bad person would call it naive, tugging on his lips, he looks at Mike. „Welcome to RadioShack, how may- oh.“

 

„Oh?“ Mike repeats uncomfortably.

 

Mr Newby keeps on smiling. If anything, his expression only turns more sincere. „Mike, is that you?“

 

„Yeah, I-“ He doesn‘t get to finish before Mr Newby leans over, grabs his limp hand, and shakes it heartily.

 

„Joyce told me you‘re back. God, I didn‘t even recognize you with the- the-“

 

„Hair?“ Mike offers.

 

„Yeah, that. Look at you, catching up to me, huh?“ The man‘s expression turns serious rather quickly. „How are you feeling? You know we were all so worried.“

 

„I‘m good, I‘m good.“ Mike sighs, wondering how many times he heard that phrase already. „Good to be back.“

 

„Good to have you back.“ Mr Newby returns. „Really. Can I help you with something here? Any equipment you need?“

 

„Not really, no.“ Mike shrugs. „I just wanted to get Will something for his birthday. Didn‘t get a chance for that so far.“

 

„Ah.“ Mr Newby huffs. „I wish I could have been there. Well, I guess Jonathan is as good with stereos as I am so...“

 

„Yeah, that was a huge hit.“ Taking a look around, Mike can actually make out the stereo Will got for his birthday. Just as he thought, the price tag is off-putting.

 

„I‘m the boss here.“ Mr Newby chuckles, as if able to read Mike‘s mind. „If I decide to give someone a discount here, that someone _gets_ a discount. Any idea what you want to get him?“

 

Mike‘s hand wanders down to his heavy wallet, that‘s stuffed with months worth of allowance. „Will doesn‘t own a single CD yet. How about I start there?“

 

„Good thinking. You wanna try Sam Goody then. But I bet you wanted to drop by there anyways. They‘re full of Nintendo now.“

 

„I‘m gonna do that.“

 

„Get yourself something nice too, while you‘re there.“ Mr Newby orders. „You wanna come over and give Will his present today?“

 

„I think so.“ Mike contemplates. He‘d have to take lunch at home, but Will won‘t be home before 3PM anyways. „We‘ll meet then?“

 

„I‘m gonna be there.“ Mr Newby nods.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mike resumes his shopping trip with an even lighter heart. Getting to ride his bike, talking to Bob Newby without having to feel a hint of guilt or regret, all that was enough to wipe the scars from his mind for a while. What do these things say anyways? As with so many little details, he must have seen them before subconsciously and then used them for his fantasy. Easy as that.

 

He won‘t let that ruin his excellent mood. Mike asks the clerk at Sam Goody‘s for, well, music that‘s a bit on the _weirder_ side, just as Will likes it. He even gets a chance to listen to some records on tape to find the one that Will is going to like the most. The little booth offers a cassette player mounted to the wall, complete with headphones.

 

Mike finds a few he takes into consideration. The eventual decision takes close to half an hour. Half an hour he actually enjoys. Mike settles on an album called _Murmur_ by a band named _R.E.M._. He has never heard of them before, though they appear to be American, which is usually not Will‘s preference, but the record is just the right amount of weird, the right amount of underground for his friend‘s taste. He purchases the CD, and is planning on rounding it off with a hand-drawn card to make it more personal.

 

But there is something else he wants to get Will. Something he finds at Waldenbooks.

 

„There you are.“ the clerk there says after just a minute of searching. „A comprehensive collection of guitar and ukulele chord diagrams in different tunings, complete with beginner‘s songs to practice.“

 

„Perfect.“ Mike says sincerely. „I‘ll take it.“

 

 

* * *

 

 

Just another thirty minutes later, Mike is packed like a mule. Well, not really, but he is carrying more than a few bags. Turns out, there are a lot of X-Men issues he missed during his stay at the hospital, and he is determined to catch up. What impression would that make on Dustin?

 

On his way back to the front entrance, Mike keeps on eyeing the latest issue, ‚Uncanny X-Men Vol 1 #203‘, which appears to be a continuation of ‚Avengers #265‘. He bought that one too, of course. Still walking, still shifting through the pages, Mike attempts to determine which issue he actually should start with to get the whole thing. After years of collecting and reading these comics, he still thinks the concept is way too complicated. Why would parts of the same story appear in books from entirely different lines, with entirely different titles?

 

He stumbles outside more than he walks, only to collide with something. With someone. The smell hits him first. A disgustingly dirty person, he reckons. Next is the rough voice. A voice that, for some reason, sends shivers down Mike‘s spine. „Hey, watch it there, kid.“ Mike doesn‘t even get to process this all before the man has already stepped past him and heads for the parking lot. From behind, he can‘t make out a face. He‘s tall, broad, clad in a threadbare leather jacket and jeans. What little hair is showing underneath his holey cap is either light-brown, or gray.

 

Something compels Mike to stare. He continues staring until the man unlocks the door to the old pickup truck Mike noticed earlier. He gets in, and Mike _finally_ gets a glimpse of the hobo-looking guy from the side. Most of his face is covered in a thick gray beard, but he looks... familiar. So familiar! If Mike could only get a better look on him, he might be able to-

  
„Michael?“ Someone else is there, stepping into Mike‘s field of view abruptly, robbing him of his line of sight. „Michael, it‘s really you!“

 

Mike gawks at Scott Clarke, his science teacher from middle school. While he is at a complete loss for words, the engine of the pickup truck springs to life behind Mr Clarke‘s back, and the mysterious man drives off without Mike getting to look at him again. Meanwhile, Mr Clarke‘s friendly face drops a little. „Michael?“ he repeats.

 

„Uh... oh.“ Mike snaps out of it. „Mr Clarke! Sorry, I was kinda... distracted?“

 

„So good to see you.“ Mr Clarke goes on, smiling again. His mustache twitches slightly when he shakes Mike‘s hand enthusiastically. „How have you been? Last thing I heard you were at a hospital. You had the entire staff worried.“

 

„The _entire_ middle school staff?“ Mike asks wryly. „Even Mrs Cooper?“

 

„Oh, well...“ Mr Clarke gnashes his teeth a little. „She acknowledged your absence from town. It‘s been a long time.“

 

„Yeah. But I‘m fine. Really. How... how much do you know?“ As far as Mike has heard, no one but those directly involved knew about his situation. For everyone else, it was just an extended hospital stay, no reasons stated.

 

„Nothing. Only that you‘ve been away for half a year. Awfully long time.“

 

„Mr Clarke, I-“

 

„I‘m not going to ask you, Michael. Not my business.“

 

Mike exhales, smiling at him gratefully. He doesn‘t feel the need to explain anything. Mr Clarke will make his own assumptions, sure. Mike‘s hair is shorter. He isn‘t under any illusions. People might interpret this is because it‘s just growing back. So yeah, Mike could very well end up as Hawkins High‘s cancer survivor kid. There are worse things. „Thank you.“ he says curtly. „I‘m better. Really.“

 

„That‘s all that matters. I see you‘re not in school.“

 

Mike grins. „You‘re not either.“ Mr Clarke is probably the only teacher he would be so bold with. The only one with a reliable sense of humor.

 

„Yeah, well the class I should be teaching is on a field trip. I suppose you‘re just getting used to being home, and all that?“ he ponders.

 

„Trying to to adjust.“ Mike nods, shaking the bags he is carrying. „And getting some shopping done. I‘ll be back at school next week.“

 

„And would you allow me to ask how things have been going in that regard? I mean, your grades. Just professional curiosity.“

 

„It‘s okay, really.“ Mike says lightly. „I had all my textbooks and assignments at the hospital, so I‘m not gonna fail the year.“

 

Mr Clarke frowns. „That must have been awfully hard, all on your own without any teachers. Congratulations.“

 

Mike can only shake his head, smirking. „I had a few teachers. One of them was really good.“ It‘s the truth. Christie was the best teacher he could have gotten at that place. He makes a mental note to write her today. His last letter from Pete came last week, so he should probably answer that too.

 

„Still...“ Mr Clarke insists. „Getting through your first year of High School from a hospital bed, that‘s a real achievement. You can be proud of yourself.“

 

Mike really hasn‘t considered the whole thing a big deal. Whatever he achieved at school, it pales against all the personal problems he had to fight so hard. All the problems he is _still_ fighting. Now, after this mysterious encounter, Jonathan‘s and Nancy‘s scars are suddenly visible clearer than ever in front of his inner eye. But he absolutely can _not_ allow these thoughts. If he does, everything might collapse on him like a house of cards. He‘s not going mad again. No, these are just the last remnants, the final ripples of the wave that his madness sent through time. More or less the last details that need to be ironed out.

 

Mr Clarke must be able to hear the gears rattling in Mike‘s mind, because he eventually proclaims „Well, I better get going. So much to buy, so little time.“

 

„Yeah. I guess I should go home too. My mom expects me back soon.“ Mike sighs.

 

„You‘re not walking, are you?“ Mr Clarke asked, worry shining through in his voice.

 

„No. I got my bike over there.“ He points at the bike rack.

 

„Good. Take care, Michael. Some drivers out there are outright mad, you know.“ Mr Clarke goes on to shake Mike‘s hand again. „And say hello to your friends from me. You‘re always welcome to come back for our annual science fair.“

 

„Will do. Bye, Mr Clarke.“

 

His former teacher leaves Mike there in the mostly empty parking lot. He takes a while to stare at the empty spot where the old pickup truck had been parked just minutes ago. Only once, Mike stomps his foot down in desperation. He just _knows_ that old hobo looked familiar. If he could only make the connection, draw the line somewhere in his mind that links the face he got a brief look of to a memory. Every time he seems to be getting close to the answer, it glides out of his grip, fogging up his mind.

 

Mike sighs heavily. With his plastic bags dangling from the handlebars, he begins his bike ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT IS HAPPENING??? :)
> 
> I know I said all the reuniting with family was done with the last chapter, but I couldn't help but do another clumsy Ted/Mike bonding moment. Last time I did this (Mike's birthday in Chapter 11) some people told me they liked how Ted is trying to make amends with Mike.
> 
> Let me know what you think.  
> Stay tuned for more.


	18. Back to School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this real? Am I dreaming? Are you dreaming (if any of you are left). It's been almost six months. Half a fucking year. But here I am, alive and well, relatively speaking.
> 
> Apology start: Guys, I love this fic. I love love love love LOVE it and I'm never going to abandon it. I'm staying true to my word, no matter if it takes six months or six years (let's not hope that). I know what it feels like waiting for a new chapter of something you really enjoy just to be let down day after day, and if you wonderful people are actually still waiting, or even just rediscovering this, I just want to tell you, I'm sorry. Life hasn't always been easy in the last couple of months, and whenever I think things are looking up, another hammer drops. Spent a few weeks jobless, a few days homeless, a few nights drunk... Not trying to talk myself out of it, but yeah, there were factors that stopped me from writing a whole lot. And getting back into it is hard as well. Like, ridiculously hard. In the summer I could ooze out a chapter a day at times, but this took me three weeks to write, and it's not even my favorite chapter. I hope you still enjoy. I will be around.  
> Apology end.

It‘s dark. That‘s the first thing he notices. There literally isn‘t a thing to see. Just the vast black expanse, no matter where he turns his head. Mike thinks he might just have his eyes closed. Yeah. That would make perfect sense. It even feels like it behind a thick layer of hazy numbness. But shouldn‘t at least some light flicker through his lids? Well, as it turns out, his eyes are actually closed, although opening them doesn‘t do him any good.

 

Mike closes and opens them a few times just to see if there is any gunk, any sort of veil to blink away, but closed or not, the world remains dark. Probing, calmly and without even panicking like he probably should at the loss of his vision, Mike sets one foot in front of the other. It makes the faintest splashing sound. And it‘s cold. _So damn cold_. Mike hates having cold feet.

 

He exhales with some relief at the sight of his own body once he turns his gaze down. It‘s there, clad in his oversized shirt and checkered pajama pants. His bare feet are half-submerged in something. There is no smell, no fumes emitting from it and for the most part it feels like water. Its surface flickers with a silvery shimmer, and the same cold light that produces it also falls on Mike, though he can‘t make out where it‘s coming from. There is no lamp, no sun or moon in this entirely eerie and yet so... familiar world. The light appears to rob him of color.

 

Why isn‘t Mike scared shitless? Any sane person would freak out right about now, he is certain of that. Hell, Mike would freak out if he truly believed all this to be real. But it doesn‘t feel real. Whenever Mike looks down on himself, it‘s a bit like looking through a blur of sleepiness, a fuzzy filter hanging right in front of his face. It‘s a dream. That‘s comforting knowledge. And now it‘s a lucid dream because he‘s aware. Mike tries to will something into existence. A chair. He has heard before it‘s supposed to work like that once you know you‘re dreaming. It doesn‘t work.

 

Still, this is one of the most interesting dreams Mike has had so far. Few things could be _this_ otherworldly. And so he decides to take a walk. There must be some kind of ground under the thin layer of water. It barely covers his toes entirely. Whatever it is, it‘s smooth, cold as the water. Walking in this place is weird. There is no sense of distance, nothing to focus on or walk towards. Mike might as well be walking on a conveyor belt turning in the opposite direction.

 

And yet, there is a weird feeling of urgency lingering here. Lingering within Mike. There is something there, something he has to find around here. It‘s so utterly important and the feeling is growing with every step he takes. To a point where he‘s sure if someone were to try and hold him back right now, he‘d use whatever means necessary to get on.

 

This continues for a while. Maybe minutes, maybe an hour, who knows if time even exists here. But eventually, it‘s there. Standing in the black with no context whatsoever; A door. No frame around it. No hinges. It‘s old, made of dark wood with deep scratches on the surface. The doorknob is glistering in the silver light, though it‘s old and scratched up as well. Mike is drawn to it like a magpie would be. He needs to touch it. He needs to cup it in his palm, turn it around, pull this damn piece of wood aside. Because behind that door lies the answer. Whatever the question is, Mike has no idea.

 

Slowly, his arm reaches forward. His hand starts trembling when he realizes he isn‘t quite close enough to touch it yet. Two more steps. That‘s all it takes, and when he is only an inch away from the metal thing, it seems as though it‘s sending electric current from his fingertips right into his chest, where it pools as a glowing warmth that tells him ‚This is it! Open it, Mike!‘

 

„Hey, watch it there, kid!“ A voice bellows from somewhere far away but somehow right inside Mike‘s head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A strangled cry tears apart the silence of the bedroom. Mike realizes it was his own when he breathes out only to find his throat raspy and dry. This time, he isn‘t surrounded by nothing. Just his bedroom, the same as it ever was. His posters are there, the ones depicting Star Wars characters. There are all those drawings from Will he put up over the years. They really show his best friend‘s progress as an artist. His books are there, rather messily stuffed in shelves with no real system behind it.

 

There‘s just one thing missing; The door. Mike heaves a sigh. What a damn weird dream. A disappointing one too. What would he have found behind that door? Sure, in the dream it seemed super important to him. Does that mean it really was, or would it just have been boobs? He might try to tell himself that, but in the end Mike knows exactly why this happened; Plain nervousness. One may actually call it fear. The alarm clock shows 5:30. Yeah, there‘s no way Mike is getting any more sleep.

 

He shuts the damn thing off and then makes his way to the bathroom on weak legs. His own reflection in the mirror doesn‘t look half-bad. He‘ll definitely pass as a healthy individual in front of his teachers and the other students, though there‘s no doubts all eyes are going to be on him today. There will be questions he really isn‘t prepared to answer. All those stares, talks behind his back, God knows he already had more than enough of that in middle school.

 

After doing what he has to do, Mike steps into the shower to let the warm water wash away the night sweat from whatever just happened to him. This is it. Back to school. Back to homework, back to bullies, to stinking toilets riddled with graffiti, dog food for lunch. Mike smiles to himself. Back to spending all day with the Party. Exactly how it should be.

 

This last week really wasn‘t a good one. Mike navigated his time at home between sleeping either on the couch or on his new mattress, that is at least somewhat better, and episodes of Night Court and The Edge of Night. It was all just waiting for school to be out so he could be able to bike over to Will‘s house, or greet his friends in his own basement. But things are going to change today, and for all the trouble Mike will go through, it will be worth it. _Getting back to normal._

 

It‘s going to be hard. Harder than spending a week hardly finding sleep. A week sitting out the mornings until school is over and he can be with his friends. It might even be harder than spending five months at a mental hospital behind metal doors.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mike‘s dream is pretty much forgotten by the time his mom has breakfast ready. By now, he has already gone through the awkward, muttered exchange of _„Good luck at school.“_ and _„Have a good day at work.“_ with his dad, who left around six to be early. He‘s going to work late too.

 

Which leaves Mike with his mom and Holly, who can‘t stop herself from bouncing in her chair like a rubber ball at the prospect of another day at kindergarten, another opportunity to learn, or sing, or meet her friends, or whatever exactly she enjoys about that place. Well, it‘s her first year, and Mike vaguely remembers being excited about pretty much everything back then too, back before it had all become a routine made somewhat fun by Mr Clarke‘s enthusiasm, as well as AV Club.

 

Right now, the lump in his throat is too large to swallow around. Too large for him to be able to think straight, actually. There is just no way that bacon on his plate is ever going to reach his stomach. Not the eggs, or his toast, or any of the goodies Karen Wheeler has prepared, being the caring mother she is.

 

„It‘s okay to be nervous, sweetie.“ his mom gently assures him. „But I think you should really eat something. Just a little bit so you don‘t faint on your teachers later on.“

 

 _Her mommy sense is tingling_ , Mike thinks, smirking to himself. „I know. Just can‘t.“ he shrugs. „I guess I‘m just gonna pack something and eat between lessons when I feel like it. Don‘t worry, I‘ll make it until lunch like that.“

 

„Remember, no one knows a thing.“ she goes on.

 

„So they‘ll just ask.“ Mike utters under his breath. „Lucas told me some already think I had cancer.“ Absently, his hand combs through his shorter than before hair.

 

Meanwhile, his mom keeps her composure. „You don‘t have to tell them anything. They don‘t have the right to know.“

 

„They‘re still gonna think their part.“

 

„That‘s true, but-“

 

„And I‘m gonna write everything down to deal with it.“

 

She gives him an understanding nod. Mike has filled about five pages of his diary last week alone, and that was before he even got a chance to do much more than visit the mall, go grocery shopping, or watch TV. How many new impressions is he going to collect over the next couple of weeks? All those faces, all those conversations. Something anyone else would consider normal could become a real chore.

 

„I still want you to tell me if you need help.“ she sighs, half-scolding.

 

It makes Mike flash the tiniest of smiles. „Like I‘m gonna replace you with a book and a doctor. Uh, I think I‘m gonna bike to school, by the way.“

 

„Are you sure, sweetie? I could drop you off, it‘s no big deal.“

 

„Yeah, no thanks. I‘d much rather get there on my own. I kinda, kinda want it to feel normal.“ Mike explains. „I mean, why did you get me a new bike if I don‘t get to use it.“

 

His mom breathes out through thin lips. „You‘ve been to town and to the mall on your own.“

 

„Yeah.“

 

„And a few months aren‘t enough to make you forget how to behave in traffic?“

 

„Mom, what are you doing?“

 

Mike finds himself actually grinning. He doesn‘t get an answer, his mom just shrugs and pours Holly a glass of orange juice, but dammit, he actually grins.

 

Breakfast is over soon, with the hour Mike fears the most already looming near. His mother and Holly both insist on kissing him goodbye, and while he kisses Holly right back, Mike can‘t help but make a scene when his mom tries to get his other cheek too. He wiggles out of her awkward embrace, which is nice in a way because it certainly feels more normal than holding on to her for dear life at the end of visiting hours, and soon swings himself on his bike, backpack secured firmly on both shoulders.

 

Oddly, the way to Hawkins High feels like second nature to him. He‘s only been to that school for a couple of week before things went south last year, but the corners he takes aren‘t something he really thinks about. _Turn left, left again, right, left once more and then straight ahead_. Every foot of ground he covers towards the school makes him realize more just how many students actually have to get there. He sees yellow buses, kids in cars either alone, with their parents or with friends and siblings. Kids on bikes, kids on foot, seemingly hundreds are drawn towards their classrooms where they‘re going to spend the morning and a good chunk of the afternoon.

 

Together with the kid who just got released from the loony bin. If they only knew.

 

The parking lot is a jumble of faces, voices, colors, cars and _eyes_ , and Mike is hit by it the second he passes these two ancient oak trees that on either side of the driveway. He slows down to a slow crawl, just barely enough to keep his bike straight, though he somehow thinks just powering through would make it easier. Then again, he might hit one of the mindless students passing in front of moving cars as if there were none, not even reacting to angry honking and shouts. Jeez, that would make the embarrassment perfect.

 

Dustin is the first one to notice him, and for crying out loud, he has no sense of discretion. „Mike!“ he bellows from the bike stand, loud enough for at least twenty people to turn their heads and stare. „Mike, over here!“ And as if that wasn‘t enough, Mike‘s curly-haired friend claps his hands as if trying to gain as much attention as possible. Lucas and Max, both nearby, both shake their heads in exasperation. They‘ve become so much alike, it‘s actually weird.

 

Then, there‘s Will. Quiet and subdued but with a wide smile that gives everything a sense of completion. His bike isn‘t there, which is no surprise. His mom has been rather strict about that in the recent years, and the old thing is probably gathering dust out in the many sheds behind their house.

 

„Hey.“ Mike greets them, barely loud enough. People around them have gone back to their own conversations by now, mercifully. „What, you guys thought I wouldn‘t make it?“

 

„I bet that one five bucks.“ Dustin gives a nod to Lucas. „I really thought you were gonna end up lost.“

 

„It‘s not been _that_ long.“ Mike returns. „I even remember my schedule.“

 

„Elephant‘s memory, huh?“

 

„Yup.“ With no haste Mike parks his bike and secures it with the combination lock. It‘s a pretty damn good bike and it might even last him a lifetime. Better safe than sorry. „Will?“

 

„We‘ve been waiting for what, fifteen minutes?“ Will answers at Mike‘s unspoken question.

 

„Yeah, sorry, didn‘t want to get here early. I kinda wanna try to blend in with the crowd.“ Mike shrugs. He knows the accusatory tone is only half-serious.

 

„Makes sense. Wanna go in? We got about ten minutes before homeroom.“

 

„Ah...“ Dustin sighs. „The good old Pledge of Allegiance.“ With a sly grin he pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. „Our buddy here has been denied his right to salute the red white and blue for far too long.“

 

„No. Actually...“ Mike shoots back „...that‘s what landed some of those kids in the nuthouse in the first place. Really, they do it all the time.“

 

„Better not let your old man hear that.“ Max giggles without really greeting him as he walks past her. „We‘re gonna be there in a minute.“

 

Will, Dustin and Mike leave Max and Lucas to their own devices. The corridor they find isn‘t any less busy than the parking lot. If anything, it‘s just more cramped. Nothing like the hospital where you would come across a nurse, a patient here and there, or a doctor on some occasions. This is loud. _Buzzing_ , swarming with students. Mike remembers his way around Hawkins High well enough and actually dares to lead the way, all while Dustin still can‘t let his little joke go. „I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America...“ he starts reciting in his most solemn voice.

 

It makes Will giggle, but Mike doesn‘t pay too much attention. He is focused on every turn they take, the classrooms and rows of lockers they pass. He has no idea if his locker is actually still his. After all, they emptied it once it became clear he‘d have to spend months away from home. It would be a welcome surprise, though, because all those books in his backpack are really dragging him down right now. If he could just remember which one exactly it was. So much for elephant‘s memory.

 

„Michael Wheeler?“

 

The voice makes him stop dead in his tracks. It‘s not threatening in the least, but no doubt serious. Dustin, who was just about done with his recitation collides with Mike, trips over and only manages to steady himself at the very last moment. Will, on the other hand, can avoid the two but then is hit by oncoming traffic.

 

Mike hardly registers how his friend soon drops to his knees to help some random girl pick up her textbooks, while simultaneously being subjected to shouts of ‚Watch where you‘re going, Byers!‘. All he really notices is the woman to his left, and her curious frown that is hanging deep over dark eyes. „Mrs... Mrs Weslo?“ He looks up at their principal, whom he has never spoken to in his life.

 

„Well, that makes things easier. I didn‘t really know what you look like.“ The woman seems reasonably friendly, but Mike still feels the lump growing again. What now?

 

„I-I was just looking for my locker, ma‘am-“ Mike tries to explain himself as if he had done anything wrong. He could have, after all.

 

„Another reason why I really need to talk to you. Follow me.“

 

„Ma‘am, what about-“

 

„You‘re skipping homeroom.“ Mrs Weslo nonchalantly tells him. „There are some things we have to address and we better do that in my office.“

 

Mike really has no choice. This comes out of the blue, but what else can he do but follow and catch Will‘s and Dustin‘s worried stares in the process. The principal‘s office is located on the far side of the building, coming from the front entrance. Right next to the teacher‘s lounge, so Mrs Weslo must have a good view of the football field from here. Mike doesn‘t like the walk. A student following the principal is an eye catcher, naturally.

 

Once or twice a senior jock gives him a sly smile and whispers something in the lines of „You‘re in trouble, kid.“, or „You‘re gonna get it now.“. Mrs Weslo doesn‘t hear them or decides to pay no mind to them. Both the teacher‘s lounge and the principal‘s office require a key to get in. Mike steps into the neatly organized room that smells of coffee and paper, and suddenly he‘s _really_ getting scared.

 

Hyper aware of everything, he feels himself overwhelmed by the scent, by the uncomfortable feeling of scratchy office carpet under his shoes. Much like Dr Barnes‘ office, actually. He wonders how hard this will be to clean if he happens to throw up. God, he‘s really overreacting.

 

Aside from Mrs Weslo, who is quick to head for her chair behind the desk, another, way more imposing figure is waiting there. _Yep, that‘s it_. Mike thinks. _Off to Bedlam again. See you all in October, or whenever they let me out._ „Chief Powell, sir?“ is all he manages to press out before his voice fails him.

 

„Ah.“ the dark-skinned man in his khaki police uniform waves it off from his spot in the corner. „Spare me that sir-stuff. Got no time to spare for that. Don‘t know why I‘m even here.“

 

„O-Okay?“

 

„Michael.“ the principal starts quickly. „Have a seat. Did you need a glass of water, maybe? You‘re awfully pale if I may say so.“

 

Mike does as he is told. Though his throat is definitely bone dry, he shakes his head. „No thanks, ma‘am.“

 

„Don‘t worry, you‘re not in trouble.“

 

„Would be helluva start.“ Powell laughs to himself. „You‘re fine, kid.“

 

„Actually, that‘s what I wanted to talk about.“ Mrs Weslo goes on. „Please understand, this is an unusual situation. You have been away for quite a while. I really just wanted to make sure you find your way around. Half a year can make the world look quite a bit different, huh?“

 

A thought creeps up Mike‘s mind. One he doesn‘t like at all. If the chief is here, Weslo knows the chief was involved in all this. If the chief is here... Weslo knows where Mike was. And that really goes against everything he has been promised. His fear must be readable on his face.

 

„Of course I know Saint Bernard is a mental institution.“ Mrs Weslo nods knowingly. „But I‘m the only one, I promise.“

 

„Ya didn‘t really think we could keep this from everyone?“ Chief Powell sighs. „Someone had to mail them your textbooks and assignments, right?“

 

„Right.“ Mike says in an unusually emotionless voice. „So you know what happened. Ma‘am?“ he adds to take away from the rudeness of his tone.

 

„I do.“ The words are a small punch to the guts, and Mike really has to fight to remain sitting up. „No reason to be alarmed, Michael. I swear to you, I‘m the only one. None of the staff have the slightest idea. Look, all I want is to hear it from you.“

 

„Hear what from me, ma‘am? Chief?“ Mike turns his head in confusion. Both adults are eyeing him with frowns etched across their faces now.

 

„That you‘re better, of course. That nothing is going to happen, or go wrong in the next couple of weeks. I‘m sorry, I don‘t want to make assumptions. Or concern you. Really.“

 

„Told ya this was pointless, Mildred.“ the chief utters. „Look at him, he‘s fine.“

 

„Doctor Barnes says I‘m fine.“ is all Mike finds to what, explain himself? „He released me.“

 

„Barnes. Right. Good man.“ Powell agrees. „That‘s the guy we should listen to. Doc knows best, right, kid?“

 

Mike nods slowly. This scene could be almost described as comical, and seeing just how lost the two adults look makes him relax at least a little. „I mean, I thought I was fine until that stuff happened. But I‘m feeling fine right now, ma‘am. If that‘s what you wanted to know.“

 

„It‘s alright, Michael.“ Sliding on her thin wire frame glasses, Weslo begins rustling through some papers absently. Within seconds, she pulls them off again to massage her closed eyes as though she is exhausted. „You make a reasonably normal impression. Forgive me if I had to convince myself. I‘ve never dealt with anything like your case before. Few principals have, I suppose.“

 

Now, Mike could argue that his attack came almost out of the blue, and that the principal can‘t possibly know it‘s not going to happen again. But why would he? It‘s not going to happen again. By now Mike is confident enough about that. He has just worked too damn hard to be where he is right now.

 

„You don‘t have to deal with it.“ Powell cuts in before Mike can respond. „Told ya before, I‘ve been keeping an eye on the files.“ With a nod to Mike he adds „Don‘t have to convince me, kid.“

 

Mrs Weslo heaves a sigh. „You‘re absolutely right, Calvin. Well...“ With some newfound enthusiasm, she rises from her chair. „No matter what happened, we still got a job to do, right?“

 

„Yeah.“ Mike shrugs, without really knowing what that means. „Sure.“

 

„Getting you back on track and everything.“

 

„Oh. Sure.“ Realization swings in Mike‘s voice. The principal smiles.

 

„Hey, Mildred.“ Chief Powell interrupts lightly. „Is that all? I got places to be. Mayor‘s been bugging me about those gas station robberies for a week.“

 

Mrs Weslo blinks at him for a second. „Ah, yes, sure. Sorry, I didn‘t want to hold you up. Good luck with that, Cal.“

 

Mike watches the man go. The last bit of his unreasonable panic is washed away when the chief tips his hat one last time. „Case closed, kid.“

 

 

* * *

 

 

If Mike regrets anything about that morning, then it‘s not insisting on talking to the chief alone. Because for one, this is not how he expected his first meeting with Powell, which he knew would come eventually. He never expected the man to just brush the whole story off like that. In a way, he is grateful though. At least this probably was the last he‘s heard about his case from that side.

 

But aside from that, Mike regrets not asking a question. One that‘s been bugging him since second period. _‚Hey, watch it there, kid!‘_ God dammit, had he only thought about it earlier. Now, there‘s nothing left to do but stare at his wrinkly hot dogs and the two slices of lackluster bread. Yeah, he‘s not eating that. At least not a lot of that. He might eat it all but regret it later on. Where‘s the good old hospital food when you need it?

 

„Wheeler! Hey! Not zoning out, are you?“

 

„W-What?“ Mike looks up to find Max snapping her fingers in front of his face. „No. Just thinking.“

 

„Good. So?“

 

„So what?“ Mike asks pointedly.

 

„Your day. How‘s it been so far?“ she asks with clear annoyance.

 

That coaxes a genuine smile out of him. One that seems to brighten everyone‘s day. Because it really was smooth sailing until now. About twenty times smoother than he had expected beforehand. „Good. No problems I guess.“

 

„No problems means no dumb questions?“

 

„Not really. Mrs Weslo told me the teachers would leave me alone and they really pulled through with it.“

 

„Yup.“ Dustin confirms. „You should‘ve seen him in history. Could have just stared out the window and Mr Phyllis wouldn‘t have said a thing.“

 

„I paid attention, thank you very much.“ Mike snorts indignantly. „Checking attendance was uncomfortable, I guess.“

 

It really was the worst part of the day. Some teachers just can‘t help but go through the entire list of students before each period to make sure no one is skipping. And whenever Mike‘s name was called, whenever he had to raise his hand and say ‚Here!‘, that would earn him some stares. Some whispering like ‚I heard he had cancer. Don‘t go near him!‘. Some were more creative than others. One whispered comment almost made him laugh. ‚He‘s been in a car accident and they had to reattach his face.‘.

 

„Guess you‘re just gonna have to get through until summer break. Next year no one‘s gonna even remember.“ Lucas chimes in.

 

„Hey, they‘ve forgotten about me too.“ Will notes in an act of solidarity. It was the wrong thing to say right now.

 

„In your dreams, zombie boy.“ a voice sneers. It belongs to someone Mike really didn‘t want to see ever again. So far, he has been successful at that. He didn‘t really try to avoid Troy all day long, it just happened. But just like that, an utter piece of shit has just walked back into his life.

 

„Troy.“ Mike sighs calmly. Behind his childhood bully, another one, Mike thinks his name is Butch, is flexing his muscles. No signs of James so far.

 

„Almost didn‘t recognize you there.“ Troy snickers. „Had to get out my biology textbook and look up the chapter about frogs to be sure.“

 

„Actually, the chapter is about amphibians. There‘s only a double page about frogs.“ Dustin lamely corrects, which immediately earns him several ‚Not helpful!‘-stares from Lucas, Will and Max.

 

„Shove it, freak.“ Troy hisses. „I‘m talking to Wheeler.“

 

„Got nothing better to do?“ Mike utters. Pointing at Butch, he adds „Your hot dogs are getting cold. Or is that one keeping them warm for you?“

 

The joke seems to be lost on the burly teen behind Troy. As for Troy himself, Mike hardly finds any anger in his teasing grin. „Just wanted to check in on you. See if cancer frog is all better.“

 

Mike shrugs, wordlessly. Troy won‘t get an emotional reaction out of him. Not today, not in the future.

 

„Or is it true what they say? Did fairy boy over here give you AIDS? Fucking breechloader.“

 

Mike doesn‘t bother with asking who _they_ are. He quickly returns „If I had AIDS, you‘d know it by now.“

 

„Oh yeah?“ the other boy snarls. „And why would I?“

 

„‘cause your mom would be dying in a hospital bed right now.“ A tiny smile playing around his lips, Mike closes his eyes. Christie would be damn proud of him for that one. Now, he waits. Why get in trouble by fighting back? That wouldn‘t make a good first impression on Mrs Weslo, or the chief, or anyone else. He can take a few hits if it means getting Troy in trouble, though. Bloody knuckles on one side, a bloody face on the other. A clear case.

 

Mike can almost hear Troy‘s muscles straining, his knuckles cracking.

 

That is, until the tension is broken. „Any problem here?“

 

A pause follows. Then, Troy puts on his most recognizably faked innocent tone. Smiling, he proclaims to the man hovering above him „No problem here, Coach.“

 

The school‘s basketball coach glares at the bully from the shadow of his Hawkins High basecap. Mike nods to confirm Troy‘s claim. „No problem, sir.“ he repeats.

 

The imposing figure then nods. „I‘ll be keeping an eye on you boys. Eat up.“

 

While the man leaves, Troy waits patiently for his chance to put on his disgusting grin again. „Lucky, Wheeler. Don‘t get too comfortable.“

 

He hurries off, his fat crony hot on his heels, before Mike gets a chance to return something. What‘s left of the tense moment has to settle, but soon Dustin slams his hand down on the table. „Holy shit!“ he whisper-shouts. „Holy shit, Mike. I thought he was gonna lose his shit.“

 

„Dumb bastard.“ Max utters. „I swear if I ever get my hands on his balls-“

 

„Well, I really need to go number two now.“ Dustin interrupts.

 

„Oh god...“

 

„Dustin, please.“

 

Mike doesn‘t say anything else. He has noticed the sly smile that has lightened Will‘s features and decides just to mirror it contently. There might be things that are bugging him, but all in all the day bearable, if a bit exhausting.

 

 

* * *

 

 

„You shouldn‘t be doing this, Mayfield.“

 

„So stop me, Wheeler.“

 

Mike doesn‘t know when she started, but he doesn‘t at all like the sight of thick, gray-blue cloud puffing from Max‘s nostrils. Neither do the others, but they probably have stopped trying to convince her she shouldn‘t. Always the rebel. There‘s no doubt about who is going to be the first one of them to get drunk. Mike sighs. The parking lot is emptying quickly, with students from all over town trying to get away from this hated place as fast as possible. The Party aren‘t in any hurry today.

 

They agreed to walk Will home to give Joyce some peace of mind since she has to work until six today, and with no one waiting for them, they might as well enjoy the weather. After spending a good ten minutes in the sun, sitting on a low wall, they finally fall into a slow trot. Mike, Dustin and Lucas all pushing their bikes while Max keeps the skateboard in one hand, cigarette in the other.

 

Mike watches the cars swish by, reminiscing about his first day back in the real world. It was good. Really good. Actually it was good enough to take away a huge chunk from all his worries. Scars that shouldn‘t be there? A mysterious dream? Why would these things bother him right now? He‘s with his friends. They‘re _The Party_ again, complete and inseparable. Everything is fine. Fine.

 

Really? Because that pickup truck by the far side of the parking lot looks familiar. _‚Hey, watch it there, kid!‘_. Too familiar. Mike grits his teeth, averting his gaze. An old piece of junk. Basically any broke sixteen year old‘s car. He has never seen this thing before. _He has never seen this thing before!_

 

„Mike?“ Will‘s voice comes out worried, piercing Mike‘s thoughts.

 

„Huh?“

 

„You okay?“

 

Going on chewing on his bottom lip, Mike doesn‘t answer immediately. „Kinda. Hey, Will?“

 

„Yeah?“

 

„Can I ask-“

 

Mike is cut short by Dustin all but shouting. „No way! Lucas, that‘s not how it works! Look, the speed of light is the maximum speed of this universe, period.“

 

„If you‘re in a car moving sixty miles an hour and you shoot a gun in the direction you‘re going, the bullet is gonna fly at it‘s own speed plus the speed of the car!“ Lucas groans back. „Simple!“

 

„Not as simple if we‘re talking light speed! Lucas, headlights won‘t work at light speed. I‘m telling you. And I‘m gonna prove it.“

 

„How?“

 

While Dustin goes on rambling about how he‘s going to call Mr Clarke to get this sorted out, Mike clears his throat. At least they‘re not listening. He isn‘t sure if he wants them to hear this. „Can I ask you a question? It might sound weird.“ he goes on.

 

„Sure. Go ahead.“ Will encourages.

 

„Your, uh... your mom. Wasn‘t she friends with Chief Hopper?“

 

Will shows a frown, but nods slowly. „I guess yeah. What about him?“

 

„That‘s what I‘m asking you. Don‘t really know why. I was just wondering, what‘s going on with him. Where‘d he go?“

 

„Don‘t mention it to my mom.“ Will answers darkly. „I think she‘s upset about it. Y‘know, she has no idea where he is.“

 

„Must have been two years ago when he resigned, huh?“ Mike ponders.

 

„I guess. He didn‘t say goodbye to her. She even tried to find him. Called his ex-wife and everything.“ Will‘s voice turns into a whisper then. „I think she liked him. Don‘t tell anyone, okay?“

 

„Yeah, sure.“ Mike nods, maybe a bit disappointed. Would Powell have told him more? Does Powell even know more than Will?

 

„Why d‘you ask?“ Will inquires.

 

„Hm.“ Why _does_ Mike ask? _‚Hey, watch it there, kid!‘_ He knows why. For the same reason why he is one hundred percent certain, he is not going to mention tonight‘s dream in his diary for Doctor Barnes to read about it. Forcing a smile, he shakes his head. The old pickup has already left his field of view. Out of sight, out of mind. Again. „Doesn‘t matter. Maybe it‘s because I spoke to Powell this morning. Kinda reminded me.“

 

„Makes sense.“ Will shrugs.

 

„Hey, Byers!“ Dustin yells. Up until now, Mike didn‘t even realize how far the two have already fallen behind. „We‘re gonna be alone at your house!“

 

„Yeah. So?“

 

„So we should probably wait outside while you get in and hide the kitchen knives!“

 

As if to ask for permission, Mike raises his eyebrows at Will. The smaller teen nods. That‘s all Mike needs to quickly swing himself over his bike. „You‘re gonna get it now, Henderson!“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just gave our nameless principal a name. I actually didn't realize Hawkins High had a female principal until after I had written the chapter (with the principal being a man). I just kinda thought, 'Hey, maybe the principal appeared on the show and I didn't realize.'. Turns out, she did. The lady who told Mr Clarke about Hopper's daughter when they searched the woods in S1. Honestly didn't remember her. So I reworked everything to make it fit, because I want this to be Season 1 canon compliant.
> 
> Phew. I'd really appreciate a comment or two, if you got the time. Though I'm in no position to ask anything of you. Just saying.


	19. Hackles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, I'm terrible! I know, I know. More than a month between chapters AGAIN.  
> But let me just tell you this: I'm not writing if I know it's gonna be torture, and sometimes it just is. I get stuck somewhere, I get frustrated, I drink some more rum to cope aaaaaand another month is over.  
> I still feel bad about it. I hope the chapter is at least good.
> 
> As always: Fuck proof reading.

There are things Mike has been missing out on for months. He knows that, and he is mostly fine with it by now. For a while it was bad, he figures. After Will had visited him. The following weeks were characterized by both a sense of contentment and unbearable longing for normal things. Just having a sleepover. The arcade. Movies. Dungeons and Dragons. Even going to school.

 

Mike is going to miss out on a few things today, too, but today he‘s got no problem with that. Just one day. One day every other week. It‘s not that much of a trade-off. He does feel sorry for his mom; Driving up to Chicago once every two weeks might be better than doing it every single week. It‘s still a major inconvenience. There‘s the hours spent on the road. Money paid for gas. Mileage put on her car. Mike has already made a mental note to pay her back at least some of that once he‘s got his first job.

 

As for Mike himself, he knows a few places he‘d rather be than in his mother‘s station wagon, headed north on the interstate. Just yesterday he got his hands on this awesome new video game. OutRun. It was something of an epiphany. Fast. Realistic, with a steering wheel, pedals, gear lever and everything. After his first round he felt about ready to hop in a real car and get on the road. He still can‘t believe anything like this is technically possible. Compare it to the squares and triangles, simple, colored shapes that make up the game graphics on his Atari.

 

Well, Mike supposes there is still more to driving than popping a plastic clutch and stepping on the gas like a maniac. And he is pretty sure he won‘t be drifting through bends any time soon. The prospect of actually being behind a wheel is frightening enough.

 

„You know...“ his mom starts, once again proving her ability to read minds. „We could use these trips for driving lessons later on.“

 

„Uh, yeah.“ Mike quickly agrees.

 

„Not before you‘ve done some trips in and around Hawkins, of course.“

 

„Sure. But I‘m not gonna get my permit in the next couple weeks, I think.“ Mike muses. „I got too much going on right now. Maybe in the summer when school is over?“

 

„It‘s up to you, sweetie.“ his mom shrugs. „Don‘t rush things. I‘m sure you‘re gonna do great.“

 

Will he? Are there any laws against proven maniacs on the road, anyways? He actually has no idea. What about ex-convicts? People with a history of violence or unstable personalities? Once in control of a vehicle, he will be the one to decide when to merge, when to give way. Wow. A lot of responsibility. For a second Mike has to smirk at the thought of a cop pulling him over just to find a babbling, drooling maniac in the driver‘s seat. Before he can remind himself that that‘s just not him. He‘s okay. For the most part. Right? _Right?_

 

Two hours behind them, one to go. The radio is still on with some newsreader stoically telling tales of supposed tax cuts and bloody murder, but Mike has stopped listening a while ago. Just welcome background noise. Once or twice he flips through the channels, always making sure to find one before his ears can pick up too much of that static in between stations that causes him goosebumps for some inexplicable reason. He hates static. Radio, TV, it doesn‘t matter. The image has to be clean, the sound perfect. Static makes Mike uncomfortable.

 

Eventually, he comes across a station that‘s playing music. A song he doesn‘t know, but it‘s good enough to keep listening.

 

_All you zombies hide your faces..._

_All you people in the streets..._

 

His mom doesn‘t say a word and lets him have his way. She usually doesn‘t care too much for these things as long as it‘s nothing too drastic or assaulting on her ears.

 

„We‘re not gonna start playing stupid road trip games, are we?“ Mike inquires after another long stretch of silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mercifully, they don‘t play any game whatsoever, and they certainly don‘t sing any songs. Their life isn‘t National Lampoon‘s Vacation, after all. It‘s not particularly funny, they‘re not stranded in the desert or driving around with a deceased body strapped to the roof. Instead they‘re rolling up a long, twisting driveway that Mike has only seen once before. Strange how he used to live here for months without ever seeing the front gate. Only when he got out did he realize just how many security measures this hospital is taking. He has never even so much as heard a single word from the adult patients, but Mike figures some of them must be as dangerous as he himself was during his worst times.

 

The security guard lets them right through after only switching through some papers for a few seconds. According to Mike‘s mom, they have a list of license plates that are registered with the hospital to identify visitors. Plus, the guard probably recognized her face. The driveway continues for a short while after they have passed the chain-link fence.

 

Mike still doesn‘t like how this place looks. Kinda old but yet disgustingly modern. Who knows what happened here when it was first opened around thirty years ago? This place could probably be made into a haunted house attraction, should funding ever cease. He has done some reading. Who wouldn‘t, in his situation, and Mike found that being a loony in the eighties is way better than being one in the fifties. ICT, ECT, lobotomies, the thought makes him shudder and thank whatever entity might be out there in space that he wasn‘t born thirty years earlier.

 

Mike pushes the glass door open before his mom has even reached it. Some nervousness might have settled in, but he is also going to see some friends again, and that‘s enough for him to push along. Mike‘s mom hurries in right behind him, finding that receptionist, Mike thinks his name is Davis, nods at them, pointing at the stairs or the elevator, which are situated right next to each other.

 

Mike remembers these stairs as steep, but they‘re really not. Just a bit on the narrow side to save space for those large elevators that can fit entire beds in them. But similarly, he remembers the front door as way larger and imposing than it actually is.

 

„Weird.“ he notes once the door to the staircase has fallen shut. His voice echoes in the cold, empty environment. „I remember it kinda differently.“

 

„In what way?“ his mother inquires.

 

„It‘s, I don‘t know, smaller than I remember? Does that make sense?“ Mike has to refrain from taking two steps at a time like he does out of habit since he has grown these weird stork legs, or she couldn‘t keep up with him.

 

„Makes sense to me.“

 

„Really?“ Mike stops for a second to look back on his mom, just to find her with a pained expression. „Yeah.“ he sighs. „Really makes sense, huh? It wasn‘t all bad, y‘know.“

 

She heaves a sigh, signing Mike to keep going. „I know. I‘m still glad it‘s over.“

 

 _It‘s over,_ Mike thinks bitterly, _sure_. He‘s not too sure about that. The last two weeks have given him so many things to think about. Weird details that tear on the thin strings holding up his sanity, an even weirder encounter with a person he is now ninety percent sure was their former police chief, and then, of course, that dream that has come to him three times so far. But the worst part is, he already knows he‘s not going to tell Doctor Barnes any details about these things.

 

The individual wings of the hospital are easily accessible from the outside. A key is only needed to get back out. This door is solid metal, with no window or glass at all. Mike pushes it open, not hesitating a second, and only when it falls shut behind him does a hint of discomfort creep up his spine. A sense of finality that this heavy _thump_ means to people who come in here. For most of them, it takes months before they get out again. And there is still that danger that things could go wrong. They could keep him here.

 

Mike blinks a few times. The corridor is familiar. His home for months. He‘d probably still confuse some of these too similar doors if they weren‘t labeled, but all in all he knows this place by heart. Well enough to turn left immediately, and-

 

A strangled grunt is squeezed out of him. Quite literally, because Mike is suddenly tackled. An ambush. Reflex tells him to shove off the attacker. Fight back. Something wet is pressed to his cheek and pulled off like a suction cup. He is painfully aware that his mom is still right next to him.

 

„Let go!“ Mike chokes. „Christie, I swear, I‘m gonna... I‘m gonna...“

 

„Aw, you‘re gonna what?“ Christie coos sweetly, giving him one last tight squeeze before letting to.

 

Mike immediate goes on to use his sleeve to wipe his cheek where she just kissed him. He feels his head going bright red already. If Christie has made it her mission to embarrass Mike in front of his mom, she succeeded.

 

„Hi, Mrs Wheeler.“ she quickly greets before turning back to Mike. „This place sucks without you.“

 

„You mean even more than usual?“

 

„Yeah. No one else dare give me shit around here. It‘s boring!“

 

Mike‘s mom looks like she‘s about to shout _„Language!“_ , but what can she do about it?

 

„So, how is everyone?“ Mike‘s question is kinda nonsensical. He just got his first letter from Christie three days ago, and she pretty much made it clear people are as okay as they get at a mental institution.

 

„They‘re good. We got this new guy. Look.“ Christie points in the direction where Mike used to have his room. Instead of _‚22 - Michael Wheeler‘_ , the rectangular tag by the side of the door now says _‚22 - Christopher Chambers‘_.

 

„Christie and Chris, huh?“ Mike teases. „How is that working out?“

 

„Okay.“ she shrugs. „He‘s just not as cute as you are.“

 

„Stop it already, I-“

 

„Cute as a button.“ With a smirk, she pokes his nose. Mike‘s face has just started cooling off when the feeling of blushing heat returns.

 

His mom is still watching. With a cocked eyebrow she doesn‘t seem to acknowledge anything Christie is saying. „Michael, I think we should find a nurse or a doctor, don‘t you think?“

 

„Yeah, right. Who‘s working today?“

 

„Don‘t worry.“ Christie smirks. „No Plummer. It‘s Lime and Sybil right now.“

 

Mike feels himself smile some. Especially once he steps into the common room where he spent so many hours and days. Almost every waking second. He finds Lime first, who gives Mike a nod. He picks up some uttering of „Right, right, right...“ as the nurse walks past him.

 

Mike has never seen his mom in here before. They usually stayed in his room for visits because those few hours on Saturdays were the only time they got together. She probably checked out the place pretty early on, though. Mike figures if his son was forced to live here, he‘d too want to know what kind of place this is. She doesn‘t seem too surprised by anything. The TV is running with yet another Disney movie, but few patients are actually paying attention. Most of them are probably riled up for visiting hours.

 

His mom can urge him to get on with it all she wants, but Mike doesn‘t seek out Sybil next. Sally, on a couch, fiddling with her teddy bear. She smiles softly when she notices Mike. Her lips remain sealed.

 

„Michael, I‘m sure you‘re gonna have plenty of time to-“

 

As Mike flops down on the couch next to Sally, his mom stops herself. He doesn‘t look at her when the quiet girl snuggles into his side, but if he had to guess, he‘d say she has just choked on her words. „Missed you.“ he sighs. „Are you taking good care of Christie for me?“

 

„You bet.“ Christie drops down by the other end of the couch. „It‘s gonna be weird around here in two weeks.“

 

„Oh, right.“ Mike ponders. „Any new info?“

 

Christie grits her teeth with some frustration. „It‘s probably gonna take until I‘m eighteen before they let me go. That Erhard guy is useless as a lawyer, if you ask me. Sally‘s parents can‘t get me out either because they‘re not my legal guardians or whatever.“

 

„So, September?“

 

„Looks like it.“

 

„Sucks.“

 

„Sucks.“ Christie agrees. „At least you‘re gonna be here every other week. And Sal and her parents are gonna visit whenever they can.“

 

„It‘s something.“ Mike nods. „Pete‘s adjusting well to home.“ he changes topics to get her mind off it.

 

„I know. We‘ve been writing. He doesn‘t like phones. But it looks like he‘s coping.“

 

„Yeah. No more talk of jumping off a bridge or something. I was actually thinking about inviting him to Hawkins for a week this summer.“ Mike absently watches his mom shake Sybil‘s hand by the far side of the room. „Hey, what about Lawrence?“

 

„He‘s really responsive today. Someone‘s already taken care of his little problem, I guess.“ Christie notes. „Look.“

 

Mike follows her pointing finger. Lawrence is seated in a bright green beanbag with a lunch tablet in his lap, laying out playing cards in patterns. „I think I‘m gonna go over.“

 

„Yeah, do that. Good luck with the doctor, huh?“

 

„See you when I‘m done.“ A few seconds later, Mike sinks into the red beanbag next to Lawrence. „Hi. Hi, Lawrence.“ he carefully greets.

 

It doesn‘t set the dark-skinned boy off. So Christie was right about his musical problem. Mike won‘t get to hear today‘s song. But holy crap, he really is responsive. While he doesn‘t look at Mike, he at least gives him a small wave with his hands. The cards seem to be captivating to him. Mike watches for a few seconds. Lawrence appears to be playing some variation of Solitaire, arranging cards by suits and ranks.

 

God knows Mike has done this too many times before. He just never thought Lawrence possessed that much clarity. It‘s similar to what he did two weeks ago, but back then the rows of cards were more or less out of order. Lawrence completes the game maybe a half minute after Mike has sat down, but instead of either admiring his work or starting over, he gently picks out all four Queens and hands them to Mike. Exactly like he did two weeks ago.

 

And again Mike takes them, looking them over once more. There still is nothing to be found. They are old, colors faded like in an old photograph, with cracks interrupting the printed lines on the front as well as the red decor on the back typical of Bicycle cards. „Hey, you better put these back where they belong, huh?“ Mike suggests. „Christie is gonna flip if she can‘t even play Poker anymore.“

 

Lawrence gives Mike a vague shrug but lets him put the Queens back with their corresponding suits on the tablet in is lap.

 

„Listen, I think I gotta go see the doctor. See you later.“

 

As Mike heaves himself up from this too deep beanbag, he can‘t help but feel pity. He might know what being crazy feels like, but remaining caught within your own mind like that must be a living hell. Or is it actually mercy? Who knows what happened to this weird boy that made him like this...

 

„Everything okay?“ he hears a familiar voice.

 

„Uh, yeah. I think so.“ Mike nods. „Hi.“

 

„Hi.“ Only when Mike smiles does Sybil smile back at him, worry fading from her features. „Looks like the doctor is about ready for you. Don‘t worry, you‘ll have some time left for your friends when you‘re done.“

 

„Should I come with?“ Mike‘s mom cuts in. „Or do you want me to wait?“

 

„For now you should go in together.“ Turning back to Mike, Sybil adds „But if you want to discuss anything in private, that‘s okay.“

 

As of now, Mike doesn‘t exactly feel that need. They follow Sybil to Barnes‘ office down the hall, around a corner, around another corner, through a heavy double glass door... Mike knows the way all too well.

 

„In a minute!“ comes the response from behind the closed door right at Sybil‘s first knock.

 

„He‘s probably awfully busy right now.“ she explains. „I‘ve barely seen him around here the last couple of weeks.“

 

„Doesn‘t he usually work with the adults downstairs?“ Mike ponders. „Maybe they got a lot to do down there.“

 

„I think it‘s more about his professorship. I mean, he‘s not even in the house most days.“

 

Mike keeps his tone calm, though a tiny, inexplicable sense of discomfort has started creeping up his spine. „He‘s just here because of me?“

 

„Looks like it. Well, he‘s a busy man.“ Sighing, Sybil crosses her arms. „I really got things to do. You two can wait on your own?“

 

„No need to waste your time here.“ Mike‘s mom nods. „I‘m sure you‘re busy as well.“

 

Sybil‘s exhaustion is palpable. Mike can‘t imagine working a job like that. He knows for a fact she regularly spends twelve hours or more here, and as far as he knows nurses should be paid more. „Yeah. We‘ll still have time for a coffee later on, Karen. No need to waste your money on that awful vending machine, right?“

 

„Alright. See you then. I- oh well, there you go.“ Sybil hurries off, but Mike quickly gets a grasp on what that meant. The door behind him is open already, with Doctor Barnes making an inviting gesture.

 

„Welcome back, Michael.“ His tone is friendly, yet professionally distant as usual. „Mrs Wheeler, come in, come in. Sorry I had to keep you waiting, but I‘m afraid our appointments aren‘t the only thing I have to take care of.“

 

The usual handshakes are exchanged, seats offered, and soon Mike finds himself next to his mom, opposite to Barnes, with the doctor studying his diary that he of course brought along. Well, he more like skims over it, obviously unprepared for the amount of text.

 

„Sorry.“ Mike says after a while of this. „Kinda had a lot on my mind these past weeks.“

 

„Looks like it.“ Barnes lays the book down, finally. „Must have something to do with you having trouble sleeping. You mention that a lot. Not surprising, with your home being a somewhat strange environment now.“

 

„Going back to school has made it a bit better.“ Mike explains, while leaving out the fact that there are other factors than just being in a strange environment. He is pretty sure he is not going to mention the weird dreams. The door. The scars. The pickup truck he seems to be encountering _everywhere_ in Hawkins, even on the school parking lot. No, he is going to leave out the feeling that everything is going well but _not quite_.

 

The _not quite_ is what could land him back in here again. He doesn‘t want that. And as of now he actually believes he doesn‘t need it. No murderous episodes so far.

 

„Your friends and family are doing their part too.“

 

„Absolutely. I think because they‘re not trying too hard.“

 

Doctor Barnes nods thoughtfully. „I was a bit worried about that. Might I admit, I left them all with some instructions.“

 

After Will‘s visit in December, Mike isn‘t too shocked about his friends being in contact with his doctor. „Thank you.“ Mike simply says. He shoots his mom a glance. Despite everything, moments like these, getting reassurance if by words or just looks, can actually get his spirits up. Just _not quite_ all the way up.

 

Something is going to happen that‘s going to raise his hackles again. If not now definitely within the next week, so Mike doesn‘t allow himself to relax too much.

 

„Alright, we‘ll have to go over some routine questions. If you want to discuss any of these in private, just say so.“ Barnes flips open his notebook and quickly slides the diary back over to Mike.

 

„What if it‘s something I should be worried about?“ his mom voices her concern. „I mean, I‘m sure it‘s not, but what if?“

 

„You‘re legally allowed to know everything spoken here.“ the doctor quickly assures her. „And if you‘d ask me I‘d have to answer. The same goes for anything written in this book.“ Barnes points at Mike‘s diary.

 

Satisfied, his mom nods, but at the same time squeezes Mike‘s shoulder tightly. „I won‘t ask.“

 

„Let‘s get on then.“ comes the prompt from Barnes. „Like I said, just the routine questions. Did you experience anything out of the ordinary? Did you hear voices or even just noises without any logical explanation?“

 

„No.“ Mike answers firmly.

 

„Visual hallucinations? Seen anything you knew for a fact wasn‘t there?“

 

Mike once again denies. „No.“ Though he is seriously wondering if he is actually telling the truth. Can one imagine scars, or a weird encounter at the mall like that? Well, that was real if the collision with the owner of that damn pickup is anything to go by. No matter if it was actually the former police chief or not. The only unsettling thing is that same pickup turning up basically everywhere Mike went during the last few days.

 

„Very good.“ Barnes notes. As if on cue, being the mind-reading psychologist he is, he inquires „Now, did you ever feel like you were being followed? Fits of paranoia like the one you experienced last fall?“

 

Mike swallows hard. „No.“ he lies, which requires some effort. It‘s stupid. Lying to Barnes is stupid. Goddamn dangerous even. But it‘s too late. Mike knows, if he takes the lie back now, that would probably get him locked up again.

 

Barnes musters him for a worryingly long time, three or more seconds that feel like a tense, electrically charged eternity, before nodding again.

 

And Mike is left wondering how long Hawkins can scrape that cheese grater of weird events back and forth on his fragile mind before the doctor has to pick up the shavings again. He spends maybe a few too many moments in thoughts.

 

„Anything wrong, Michael?“

 

„I... uh...“ Mike stammers, avoiding Barnes‘ eyes. He scans the desk, desperate for some distraction. Which he finds, miraculously. „Your goldfish is gone?“

 

„My- oh yes. I‘m rarely ever here, so I‘ve moved Ulysses to my office on campus.“

 

„Sorry. Just couldn‘t make out what was different until now.“ _Details! Those damned details!_ Mike forces himself to look at the doctor. „Kinda creeped me out.“

 

Barnes cocks an eyebrow. „Is that so?“

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mike is unbelievably glad when it‘s over. The doctor‘s conclusion is, he is doing well. Which means his lie has worked, satisfying Doctor Barnes and relieving his mom to a point where she has shed the last bit of nervous tension.

 

Mike can‘t see her right now, so she‘s probably having coffee with Sybil somewhere.

 

„Y‘know...“ Christie snorts „I‘m kinda jealous.“

 

„Why?“

 

Exasperatedly she tugs on the paper-like cotton of her hospital scrubs. „Must be nice wearing something that fits.“

 

„Don‘t tell me you‘re not used to this.“ Mike chuckles. „You‘ve been wearing nothing but for... how long?“

 

„Too long.“ Christie sighs. „Whatever. Maybe it‘s for the better.“

 

„How‘s that?“

 

„Do you even know how much of a pretentious bitch I was before?“

 

„What?“ Mike feigns surprise. „You mean even more than right now?“

 

„Ouch. I had it coming, huh? Alright, imagine chain-smoking me with green hair and ripped jeans.“

 

„That bad?“

 

Christie shows a grin, making Sally next to her giggle quietly. „You have no idea, Mikey. But that‘s all gonna change. Right, Sal?“

 

Sally gives them a hasty nod, clearly excited for the prospect of Christie moving in with her and her parents, even if it‘s still a few months away. Speaking of Sally‘s parents. The girl jumps up to tackle them both in a hug when they step in for their weekly visit.

 

Christie turns to Mike, though. „Wanna come with? We‘re gonna spend some time in Sally‘s room?“

 

„Yeah sure, I mean-“ But Mike‘s gaze falls on Lawrence. If he goes now, the kid will be all alone, with pretty much everyone else receiving visitors in their own rooms. „I think I‘ll stay.“

 

„You think he‘ll even notice?“

 

„Yeah. You said it yourself, he‘s responsive today. And he deserves some company.“ Mike tries to say this without reminding her too much that she used to spend every single Saturday alone, self-confined to her room not too long ago.

 

„Drop by to say goodbye, will you?“

 

„Sure.“

 

Mike still isn‘t sure if Christie‘s way too wet kisses on his cheeks are an ironic thing, like teasing gestures, or absolutely genuine and just inherently messy. He sees her and Sally‘s family off and quickly sits down with Lawrence, who doesn‘t appear to have moved an inch since Mike left for his appointment with Barnes.

 

„Hey, buddy.“ he sighs. „Still doing good?“

 

No answer. After making sure they‘re actually alone, Mike lowers his voice. Some things he just can‘t contain anymore, so they pour right out of him. „Things are weird back where I live. But that‘s our secret, okay? I don‘t wanna go back.“

 

Silence.

 

„I know the stuff I imagined before was all just a bunch of bullshit. I mean, telekinesis? A government conspiracy and parallel dimensions. Pretty laughable, huh? But I feel like something‘s going on and I‘m right in the middle of it. I‘m not making any sense, am I?“

 

Again, no answer or even the slightest reaction from Lawrence.

 

„Don‘t worry, if it gets really bad I‘m gonna tell them. Not gonna risk hurting people again. I just figured it‘s a little too early. I mean, it could pass. It‘s gonna pass. Right?“ Without noticing, Mike has acquired a pleading tone. Pleading with whom? What is that silent boy in the beanbag next to him supposed to do about this predicament.

 

„ _Can it be what you‘re taught to believe?“_

 

Mike‘s heart stops. The words are a whispered scream from Lawrence, and as that it hits right where it hurts most. Mike‘s guts twist inside his tensing stomach. „What?“ he breathes.

 

„ _You‘ve been warned not to set foot after dark.“_

 

This really triggers something within Mike. Some primeval urge to flee. Run as far as he can, block the path so nothing and now one will be able to follow. Hide. _Hide!_

 

But Mike wills himself to stay by tightly clenching his fingernails into the beanbag until his knuckles turn snowy white. That very moment, he is afraid. Afraid of Lawrence and what he might say, sing or whisper-scream next. The truth? Another punch in the guts? The next assault of sharp claws on the weak fabric of Mike‘s sanity?

 

„Michael? God, that‘s so nice of you.“

 

„What?“ Mike croaks. He takes a second to recognize Sybil‘s voice through the haze of fear. Thank god she and his mom are approaching from behind, giving him some time to compose himself.

 

„Keeping him company like that, I mean.“

 

„Uh, sure.“ Mike grunts, pushing himself up.

 

„I shouldn‘t have been gone for too long.“ Sybil scolds herself with a shake of her head.

 

„I think that‘s my fault. I‘m so sorry, I didn‘t want to keep you from your work.“ Mike‘s mom apologizes too.

 

„Don‘t worry about it, Karen. Can‘t do much more than sit here and watch him when he‘s alone. Michael has done a good job at that.“

 

„Just figured Lawrence could need the company.“ Mike mumbles. He has shoved his left hand in his pocket to hide its trembling from mom and Sybil.

 

„You‘re a bit pale, sweetie. Everything alright?“ his mom prods.

 

„I‘m good. I mean, great, actually. Just tired, is all.“

 

„It‘s an ordeal, huh?“ Sybil sighs. „The long drive and all that.“

 

Mike picks up on the explanation gratefully. „It‘s what we gotta do, huh?“

 

„Anyhow... here you got your meds for the next two weeks.“ Sybil gives him another one of these white plastic bottles containing what is probably the last thing keeping him standing up. Mike doesn‘t want to imagine what all this would feel like without his daily dose of Thorazine.

 

„So, that‘s it for today?“

 

Sybil smiles warmly. „Looks like it. You made it, huh?“

 

„Ah. Three more hours.“

 

„Three hours for me.“ Mike‘s mom disagrees lightly. „You can sleep in the car.“

 

He knows she doesn‘t want him to feel bad, but Mike averts his gaze uncomfortably. „So we better get going, huh? Uh, bye, Lawrence.“

 

They head for the door.

 

„Goodbye, Mike.“

 

Mike seems to stumble over those words being whispered to him from just a few inches away. He spins around, but Lawrence is still sitting there, several feet from him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, Mike keeps his promise and says goodbye to Christie and Sally, but he really has to try hard not to show any of his newest anguish. It looks like he is good at feigning things though, so there‘s that.

 

The road home is long, of course. Long enough to offer too much time to think again. Distraction is key, so Mike forces whatever busying activity he can think of on himself. How many brands of cars can he make out? Chevy, Pontiac, Ford, AMC, Toyota, a Volkswagen here and there.

 

Can he make sentences out of number plates? Turns out, he can‘t. A game he used to absolutely dominate in during his early childhood now is completely lost on him.

 

After about one and a half hours, halfway through their trip back, Mike finds himself on wobbly legs, doing his business in some deviantly filthy gas station bathroom stall. One tank to fill, one to empty, huh?

 

He hurries of course, eager to get away from these brown-stained tile walls, the stench of piss and vomit tens of thousands of truckers must have left behind. Honestly, if his mom wasn‘t with him he would have preferred the bushes out back. With a protective layer of paper from the dispenser he pushes the door open, only to be greeted by a sharp breeze. A flap of thin cardboard.

 

„What the-“ Mike grunts. He finds the card right beside his left food, pinned against the back wall of the gas station by the wind. Red decor on the backside. A Queen of Hearts. After a few seconds of a thorough search, it‘s still the only one he can find out here.

 

The world seems to get colder by ten degrees when he finds them in his own back pocket, now in way worse shape than they were just a few hours ago. In utter disbelief, Mike holds all four of them in his hand, gawking. Queen of Hearts. Queen of Spades. Queen of Clubs. Queen of Diamonds.

 

 _Lawrence..._ he thinks. God dammit. Mike will spend the rest of the drive with hackles raised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I'd do this again, but here we go:  
> Lawrence's song of the day is 'Psycho' by Metal Church.   
> 'All you Zombies' by the Hooters also referenced.
> 
> The next chapter, whenever it comes, will really set some things off. I think I've kept you waiting long enough. Time to get serious with this story. After almost a year.   
> Gosh, I hope I'll see plenty of comments :)


	20. The Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was... quick!  
> Guys, I really wanted to get this chapter done because, as with Chapter 10 this is one of my favorites. I really hope you'll appreciate how much steam the story is now going to pick up.

On the edge of madness there is no railing. Nothing to keep you from falling. Six weeks pass. An eternity if you‘re constantly threatened with the abyss you‘ve spent six months dragging yourself out of. Mike is holding on, but barely. It‘s slippery, a wet, greasy ledge he has to dig his fingernails into to avoid the deep fall. Or just to postpone it, maybe.

 

A simple bike ride home from school can be the most exhausting experience at times. Mike keeps his gaze stoically on the road ahead, because he knows if he looks around him he‘s going to so something he‘d rather forget. For example a pickup truck parked by the curb somewhere. A very rusty truck that is always the same, judging by the pattern of cracked and flaking lacquer. No. Mike is not being followed. _He is not being followed. Especially not by Jim Hopper._

 

The worst part is, he can‘t tell anyone. No one must know of that cursed thing. Of the dreams, the dark place, the door in his mind, and especially that voice. _‚Hey, watch it there, kid!‘_

 

Coming home, putting up a smile, rushing to his room where he can finally exhale the tension in hopes of a somewhat normal, uneventful afternoon, all that hurts. Keeping these secrets from mom and dad, from the Party, that‘s plain out wrong because it might hurt them even more on the long run.

 

Keeping them from Doctor Barnes is nothing short of dangerous, though. Mike is absolutely aware it might ruin Mike‘s future once and for all. Next time it might not be six months, but six years. And how do you live a normal life after spending six years locked up? It can happen. It might happen. But still, something in the back of Mike‘s head, an inner voice conjured by all the weirdness around him, keeps warning him to keep going with the lies. Invent stories about slowly progressing towards normality at home and at school.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There is a trick, though. Mike discovers it somewhere along the way, and while it grants him some relief it also makes him absolutely dread the end of school. But they‘re not quite there yet. _Busy. Always busy, never idle, always do something, stay active to fill your head with anything but thoughts about what in the world is going on in this damn town._

 

Homework, voluntary assignments and presentations to get those grades up, spending hours in the AV room learning some BASIC on that Tandy computer the AV club possesses courtesy of Bob Newby. Or, alternatively watching Will create some amazing sixteen color artwork on its ridiculously expensive screen.

 

Nights are spent writing until Mike can‘t keep his eyes open. Not the lies he fabricates for his diary, no, Mike focuses on D&D, either working on his longest campaign to date or just making up short stories that allow for some more storytelling freedom. And once the creative juices stop flowing, he just takes to copying his handwritten notes with his typewriter so he can get photocopies for all his friends from the library later on.

 

The arcade is a good place, too. So many games to get lost in, passing the time while actually having genuine fun and a sense of belonging. No one gives Mike or any of his friends shit at that place. They‘re among equals there, all nerds and weirdos, and that‘s perfect. And when the sight of Dustin being absolutely humiliated by Max‘s ability to wreck his high scores coaxes a wide smile from Mike, the muscles on his face loosen up and he dares to feel alright for a change.

 

Just _never, never ever_ idle.

 

In the same chain of thought, the current situation has come about.

 

„Hey, uh, mom?“ Mike utters on a bright Friday afternoon in late May.

 

Taking a small break from fixing dinner, his mom looks at him standing awkwardly in the doorframe. „Something wrong, honey?“ Worry warps her features.

 

„No. I was just wondering if you would sign this for me?“ The sheet of paper is slightly sporting dog-ears from all his fidgeting with it. „Nothing bad, look.“

 

She furrows her brows when Mike hands it over. „Driver‘s ed?“

 

„Well, yeah.“ Mike shrugs. It‘s not the thing itself making him nervous. It‘s his mom‘s reaction, because he knows she‘s suspecting something. Or at least she‘s worrying about him not granting himself even a hint of rest. „It‘s a summer course at school, so-“

 

„So you‘ll have something to do during the summer?“ she proposes. „You‘ve been quite caught up with lots of things lately.“ _Well, shit._

 

„I just...“ Mike stammers painfully, before it makes click in his head. „I just thought with school keeping me so busy I should just do this when I got a little more free time. Y‘know, ‘cause I really wanna do it. Besides, it‘s just two times a week.“

 

„Hm. Makes sense.“ his mom nods. _Crisis averted._ „Alright. If you think you‘re ready.“ She quickly signs the paper with the pen Mike has brought along. „You know your father is gonna insist on taking you for your first drive. Once you got your permit.“

 

„Yeah, I know. He already told me.“

 

„I‘m sure we‘ll get our chance too and if it‘s on one of our trips.“ She says this with a heavy undertone, probably hoping for some relief from these longs drives. Hell, she‘s been taking this trip regularly for the better part of a year, and Mike knows as soon as he‘s ready he‘ll take the wheel anytime he can. If he can‘t convince her of his other idea that‘s been forming lately.

 

„It‘s gonna be easier if we switch, huh?“ he ponders.

 

„That‘s really not what I was trying to say.“

 

„Hey, mom I was actually thinking. The doctor rarely really... needs you around, right?“ Mike carefully approaches the topic.

 

„So?“

 

„So maybe, I mean later on, wouldn‘t it be cheaper if I just... took a bus?“

 

„A bus?“ his mom repeats with some skepticism.

 

„The Greyhound from Indy to Chicago is pretty cheap actually and if you‘d just have to take me to the station you wouldn‘t have to make that long trip every other week. Only when the doctor wants to talk to you, and-“ Mike tries to explain before being interrupted.

 

„Michael, I... I don‘t know if I like that idea. Look, I‘m gonna think about it, but for now I really think it‘s better if we go together. Get a few hours of driving done with your dad and maybe you‘ll even find some fun in all this.“

 

To be honest, Mike was half afraid this would end similar to that one time back in November when he asked her not to visit him every week. His cheek remembered that smack for a pretty long while.

 

Mike heaves a sigh, knowing he should let the topic rest for now. He got what he wanted today, which was a signature from his mom, so at least he will have a plan for two afternoons a week during summer break. Plus, it will be time spent with a purpose. Everyone needs a license.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Baby steps first, Mike supposes. If training wheels on a car were a thing, he‘d probably wouldn‘t even be embarrassed to use them. Because, holy shit, this is frightening.

 

Seriously, should who ever thought it was a good idea to make a car that huge? The hood stretches out in front of him far enough so he can‘t see a thing that is closer than seven feet to the front wheels. How many hours has he spent in the passenger‘s seat of the family station wagon without even noticing this inherent flaw of any car? You can‘t see _shit!_

 

Well, he does notice now that he‘s in the driver‘s seat, trying to get the damn thing in a position that will allow his legs some freedom while not stretching his arms painfully.

 

„This won‘t work!“ he complains meekly. „Like, not at all!“

 

„Well, you have to make it work one way or the other.“ his dad sighs from his slightly reclined position in the passenger‘s seat. „Just prop up the backrest or whatever. And relax.“

 

 _Relax,_ Mike thinks. _Easier said than done._ He ends up forcing himself into a position that‘s neither good nor terrible and that probably will get the job done.

 

„Okay, I think I‘ll do it like this.“

 

„Good. Gotta set up your mirrors now. You wanna see a small part of the car in both of them.“

 

Mike finds the laid back tone of his father‘s instructions to be not at all calming. How is he not scared shitless at the prospect of a fifteen year old driving his car? Sure, the mall parking lot is empty on this Sunday morning.

 

It‘s sunny too, warm enough to walk around in a T-shirt comfortably. Probably on its way to the first really hot day of the year. All signs are pointing towards success, and Mike doesn‘t even waste a single thought on anything more troubling than the fact that he is about to move this behemoth of a station wagon. Yep, that‘s the only frightening idea he‘s suffering from right now.

 

Regardless, Mike does as he‘s told, setting up the left in inner mirror by himself, giving instructions to his dad who sets up the right mirror until Mike believes he‘s got it right.

 

„Alright.“ dad goes on. „Don‘t look at your feet. Right foot only, and try to hit the brakes and gas a few times.“

 

Alright, that‘s not too hard. The brake pedal is reasonably wide, and the gas is easy enough to find. „Okay, that works.“ Mike nods.

 

„Remember, if I tell you to brake you just do as you‘re told no questions asked. And if I yell at you, slam that pedal. Understood?“

 

„Yeah.“

 

„Really?“

 

„Really, dad.“ Mike confirms. „See?“ He brings his foot down on the pedal as hard as he can, earning him a satisfied nod.

 

„Good. Keep your foot on the brake.“ his dad orders. „Turn the key all the way.“

 

Heart picking up pace, Mike obeys, only pausing for a second to bite his lip nervously before actually doing it. And god, that engine is _loud_. Or is it just more noticeable when you know you‘re in control? The pedal drops maybe an inch under his foot, causing his stomach to drop as well.

 

He knows what to do. They‘ve been over it more than once. Shift into Drive. Parking brake off. Take a deep breath. There is nothing ahead he could hit. Just a wide, open parking lot.

 

„Easy on the gas now.“ dad says calmly. „Don‘t worry, you really can‘t do anything wrong.“

 

Mike feels his throat produce an indignant squeak when he presses down on the smaller pedal slightly too hard and his head is thrown against the headrest by the jerk the car makes.

 

„Whoa, easy son.“ his father chuckles, but Mike has already slammed the brakes.

  
It‘s going to be a long morning.

 

Mike spends maybe an hour like this, navigating the parking lot while learning how to keep things smooth. Slowly on the gas, slowly off the gas. In most situations. Once his dad startles him by yelling „Brakes!“

 

And after the tires are done screeching and Mike is sure he has just suffered a heart attack, his father just laughs and tells him he has passed the test. Mike begrudgingly curses under his breath, but dad leaves it uncommented, instead proclaiming it‘s now time to get on the road.

 

„Hey, where was that shoulder check?“

 

Mike is having a hard enough time as it is, trying to turn on to the main road in a tight angle, but not too tight as not to bump into the curb. „I‘ve never seen you do that.“

  
„Do as I say, not as I do. I wanna see you checking your mirrors and over your shoulder before every turn, understood?“

 

„I‘ll try.“ Mike sighs.

 

„Meaning I‘ll tell you if you forget.“

 

The road goes on without any intersections for a while. Mike takes it slow, maybe too slow judging by how many times they are overtaken by faster cars and how many times they‘re getting honked at.

 

„You have to speed up, son.“ his dad tells him.

 

Actually, Mike finds himself surprised by how easy it is to hold the car on the road. The subtle curves aren‘t hard to master at all, even at forty, which is about the fastest he dares to go right now. Turning the wheel isn‘t something he really has to think about.

 

Yes, Mike would call this a success. More than that, it really is fun once he‘s gotten the hang of it. The town is a bit of a different story. With things going on to either side of the street, people walking, biking, children running, it‘s incredibly hard to focus. Cars parked by the curb, stop and go traffic at red lights, all that is difficult to keep track of if you have to concentrate on actually driving at the same time.

 

Eventually, Mike does hit the curb on a tight corner, so the car makes a dull _thump!_ right before bouncing on its suspension a few times.

 

„You‘re losing focus.“ his dad immediately notes. „That‘s it for today.“

 

Mike agrees, relieved. Yes, he definitely feels accomplished now, but also incredibly tired. Who knew this all could be so hard on the mind? „Hey, can we stop by the arcade? My friends should be there by now.“

 

„Don‘t ask me. You‘re the driver. Take yourself there.“

 

„That was the plan. Let‘s see...“ Another successful turn including shoulder check later, they are on their way. These last few minutes it will take to get there shouldn‘t prove too difficult. „So, uh, how was that?“

 

„Never mind that little slip back there.“ dad says approvingly. „You did good today. Better than I did.“

 

„Really?“

 

„But don‘t get too riled up. Remember I had to master the clutch when I was your age. Your grandfather can teach you that, if you want.“

 

„Could be fun, huh?“ Mike contemplates.

 

„Useful too if you want to find something cheap that‘s not too beat up for your first car.“

 

„Huh.“ Mike half-laughs. „Shouldn‘t a first car be beat up?“

 

„As long as it doesn‘t cost you hundreds in repairs. Careful now, son.“ Mike‘s dad points at the red light Mike has honestly not seen until now. He brakes and comes to a halt, maybe a bit too abruptly for comfort. „Point is...“ dad goes on, not batting an eye. „...you‘ll have to deal with less ideal conditions. No power steering, no power brakes maybe. No power anything. So you better get some practice with grandpa‘s truck this summer.“

 

„Sure, why not.“

 

„Stop over there, okay? No need for risky maneuvers right now.“

 

Mike really is grateful for that since the parking lot in front of the arcade seems awfully full. Full enough so he‘d probably have to reverse to get in there. No, he‘s not doing that.

 

„And no need to empty your entire piggy bank.“

 

 

* * *

 

 

„How was it?“

 

Mike finds Dustin grinning right by the front door, and next to him, rolling his eyes, Will.

 

„Finally!“ he groans. „He‘s been looking out for you for an hour.“

 

Mike can‘t keep the grin off his face. „You‘re not gonna improve your high scores like that, Henderson.“

 

„How was it?“ Dustin repeats indignantly. „Seriously, tell me everything!“

 

There‘s and odd sense of pride to this for Mike. For the first time since he came home he can be something of a leader again. The first of the Party to have driven a car. Aside from Max probably, but that doesn‘t count. „It wasn‘t like in the games.“

 

„I know, I know.“ Dustin shrugs. „But, uh, not even like OutRun? That one‘s pretty-“

 

„No.“ Mike insists. „More like slow and kinda bouncy I guess?“

 

„Yep. You need an Italian car to go fast. Everyone knows that.“ Will explains expertly.

 

„Like in OutRun!“

 

„Dustin, let the games go already!“

 

„Alright, alright.“ Dustin sighs. „Mike, you do know you‘re gonna be our taxi if you‘re actually the first one of us with a license, right?“

 

„Yeah. That‘ll be a dollar per mile plus three bucks in basic charges for every trip.“ Mike quickly supplies.

 

„You got me there, Wheeler. Okay, first round of Pacman is on me.“ Dustin heads right back inside, perhaps eager to make up for the time he lost by the window looking for Mike.

 

„So how was it, really?“ Will asks quietly while they cross the doorstep to video game wonderland. „I know you were nervous.“

 

„Scary.“ Mike admits. „Super scary, actually. We spent like an hour on the parking lot first.“

 

„Probably for the better, huh?“

 

„Yup. The town was the worst part. It‘s so easy to get distracted, like wow you really need some empty space in the beginning.“ Mike reviews the morning to himself like that. „And even if you know the rules you gotta concentrate really hard. I got kinda tired near the end.“

 

„Did you cramp a lot?“ Will inquires. „My mom told me when my grandpa taught her she kinda stepped on the gas and cramped so she couldn‘t get her foot off.“

 

„Jeez, that can happen? I think I was kinda tense but it wasn‘t _that_ bad.“

 

They thoughtfully walk past all these great video games, carpet under their shoes sticky with spilled soda and popcornm the smell of pizza lingering. Just like Mike loves this place. It‘s dark in the back, too, despite this being a warm, bright day.

 

Eventually the others come into view, rallied around the Arkanoid machine. „You suck, stalker. Plus you‘re wasting your money like that!“ Mike can hear Max complaining. „Look, it‘s easy. The laser is the best item. Don‘t collect anything once you got that!“

 

„Yeah, yeah.“ Lucas grunts. „Can‘t always help it!“

 

„You could if you didn‘t suck!“

 

„You know it‘s not fair to distract him like that?“ Mike notes, making her jump. „Seems to me you‘re trying to protect your high score through unfair competition.“

 

„That‘s right! Expel her from this sacred place!“ Dustin proclaims dramatically.

 

„Wheeler.“ Max‘s eyes narrow at him. „Didn‘t kill anyone? Or am I gonna read about a hit-and-run in the paper tomorrow?“

 

„You don‘t read the paper.“

 

„I don‘t.“

 

„Great!“ comes Lucas‘ frustrated shout. „Another quarter down the drain.“ In front of him the Game Over screen flashes, ridiculing his failure to keep the ball on screen.

 

„Why do you even still play video games then?“ Dustin cackles. „C‘mon, let a true master show you how it‘s done.“

 

As soon as he has inserted his quarter, Max jumps in between him and the machine. „Thank you very much.“

 

Dustin lets out a huff. „You‘re gonna pay me back double, Mayfield.“

 

„So...“ Lucas grins at Mike. „How was it?“

 

So yeah, he‘s going to go over it once more. Why not? Mike is feeling pretty great.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The air conditioning at the arcade proves a blessing. One Mike can‘t quite appreciate until he steps outside and is overwhelmed by a wave of heat. Noon has passed without any of him or his friends paying any mind whatsoever.

 

They absolutely have to mind once the glass door falls shut behind them, exposing them to the hammering sunlight.

 

„Ah, it burns!“ Dustin immediately hisses.

 

Will groans, squinting his eyes. „Don‘t be so dramatic. Let‘s just go to my place. Grab some ice cream from the freezer and then go out into the woods, how‘s that for an idea?“

 

„But what about lunch?“

 

„Ice cream.“ Will repeats. „What part of it don‘t you understand? You don‘t wanna have a warm meal right now, do you?“

 

„Sounds great to me.“ Mike smiles.

 

„You sure you got enough ice cream?“ Max prods. „I‘m really, _really_ hot.“

 

Dustin snorts when she gives Lucas a playful push. „You guys are disgusting, you know that?“

 

If Lucas could turn red, he probably would. „Ugh, let‘s just get going.“

 

It happens quickly, but it hits Mike right in the stomach where it stirs up bile, so to speak. He knows he must be turning visibly pale right now and as that he‘s actually glad his friends are too caught up in their bickering to notice.

 

There he is, right across the street, flicking a cigarette butt on the sidewalk. The pickup truck is nowhere to be seen, but Mike is sure. Absolutely, one hundred percent sure, that over there is the man he ran into at the mall weeks ago. The one with the truck. The one who has been haunting his dreams and his waking hours. He is there. _Watching_.

 

Gone is the torn leather jacket, but the open flannel and white T-shirt the man is wearing look just as old and ripped in places. The beard, still thick and unruly, shimmers gray in the sunlight with only hints of brown left in it. Base cap tugged down almost to his eyes that are hidden behind black sunglasses.

 

Internally Mike absolutely loses it. The frustrated growl never makes it to his lips, but in his mind Mike is _screaming_.

 

_What now? It was a good day until this moment! A great day actually! Mike could have had ice cream! He could have spent quality time with his friends, the best friends anyone could wish for! He could have gone home, told his mom all about his first time behind the wheel of an actual car and gone to sleep feeling like he‘s actually done something good today._

 

_Fucking ice cream! A god damn fucking good time! A good night‘s sleep! That could‘ve been his. But that guy, that son of a bitch just had to show up here, hadn‘t he?_

 

Enough is enough. By now Mike is about ready to punch anyone in the face who dares to just look at him funny. No more. He has endured almost two months of this crap after fighting his way back here for half a year, and he‘s not going to let some random bastard ruin that. No matter if it‘s actually Jim Hopper or Santa Claus or whoever.

 

„Mike?“

 

„Yeah?“ Mike keeps on staring at the strange man, and Will must be staring by now, too.

 

„What are you looking at?“

 

„Huh? Oh, nothing.“ Forcing himself to look at his friend, he bites his lip. „Just remembered I promised to help my dad clean out the garage today. I‘m already late.“

 

„Really? In _that_ heat?“ Max yelps. „You‘re gonna die, Wheeler, you know that?“

 

„Sorry. I promised. So... see you guys tomorrow, I guess.“

 

„Yeah. See you tomorrow then.“ Will says slowly, suspicion oozing from his voice. He is just too much on alert after everything that happened, but that only makes Mike more adamant at figuring this shit out before his friend speaks out about his worries.

 

Mike makes sure they‘ve all turned away from him before searching for the man again. For just a second he fears he has lost him already, but it turns out he has just reached the corner opposite to where the Party are headed, which is about ideal for Mike. He follows.

 

Hawkins isn‘t a huge town, and on most days he‘d be spotted easily. Lucky for him, it‘s just such a nice day, the streets are swarming with life as they rarely do and Mike certainly doesn‘t raise any suspicion among all the other people.

 

The strange man doesn‘t seem to be worried about being followed as it is, though, because he rarely ever takes a look around. Mike just keeps at a distance. It‘s odd how calm that man is, considering he has spent weeks on end stalking Mike. He‘s no less than a criminal, and yet here he is, calmly walking past stores and cafes.

 

Mike seriously begins to worry about his current situation rather soon. Namely when they leave the densely populated areas.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Keeping pace is easy, but staying undetected, that‘s a different story. Mike hasn‘t seen anyone besides the man in what, ten minutes? By now he has taken to move from cover to cover whenever he deems it safe. The knowledge from that etective‘s handbook he got as a child surely comes in handy now. Who thought it was a good idea to teach children how to follow someone unseen and unheard?

 

If Mike was nervous before, this next move from the man has him seriously wondering if he should just call the whole thing off. He could be imagining things after all, but regardless, that guy looks dangerous and Mike is pretty sure he shouldn‘t be following him into the woods. If he is caught there, he might die there and no one would ever find out.

 

But Mike is stupid. Or determined. Or both. Too desperate to care much, he figures. Staying quiet out here proves tricky with little twigs lying around, a few dead leaves here and there that crumble under his soles, and of course little rocks. It‘s easy to trip over them and make a sound, so if Mike isn‘t observing the man, he keeps looking at his feet. The broad daylight, though filtered through the treetops, is making it worse.

 

The man himself knows where he is going, that much Mike knows. The first few minutes he heads down a trail wide enough to be taken by car. That is until _it_ comes into view. So Mike was right after all. There, in the shade between two thick stumps, stands that old pickup truck. Mike half suspects the guy to drive away, though he ends up walking past it.

 

The woods become thicker from that point on, so Mike becomes more daring, getting up closer. Bad idea.

 

The fraction of a second turns his blood into ice. Something cracks under his foot, and he‘s just too damn close not to be heard. Mike does all he can do; Drop face down on the forest ground, hope the trees provide enough cover. He doesn‘t even dare to look what‘s happening around him. His ears are all he can rely on. No footsteps. They have stopped the second Mike made a sound.

 

But they start again. If towards Mike, he is fucked no matter what. If away from him, he is safe. So he looks. The man is walking away from him. And Mike collects himself.

 

It‘s a cabin they are headed towards. A cabin in the middle of the vast woods around Hawkins. Old, abandoned looking, with a porch askew and in danger of collapsing. The windows, while made of glass, are dirty and blocked from the inside almost entirely.

 

It‘s not what Mike expected, but then again, what did he expect? A creepy stalker ex police chief living in a messy cabin? Kinda fitting.

 

Mike crouches down behind a tree and just watches. A good decision, since he sees the man making some odd movements at some point, as if he is stepping over an invisible barrier of sorts.

 

The cabin itself isn‘t his destination, though. He vanishes behind it instead, and just seconds later a rhythmic sound tears apart the silence. A chopping, hacking sort of noise.

 

Mike knows it‘s enough. He should go home, not stress his luck, just take his meds like a good nut ward patient and try to forget.

 

Something pulls him closer, some unseen force irresistible and unyielding. So that‘s what the man had to step over. Tripwire. It‘s only visible from half a foot away and connected to mousetraps nailed to the trees. They‘re equipped with what looks like shotgun shells. Must be a good bang if these go off. Someone is definitely keeping secrets out here, and Mike will be damned if it doesn‘t concern him.

 

Surely, the cabin must be locked. Heart hammering about four times the speed of the wood chopping sounds, Mike sneaks towards the door. One step at a time, and even slower once he reaches the porch that creaks dangerously loud and shrill under his feet.

 

The door isn‘t locked. In fact, it‘s missing an actual lock. Just a rusty old doorknob that won‘t even turn.

 

The inside is dark, tinged in dim orange light from the thick cloths covering up the windows. Mike‘s eyes need to adapt before he really can see anything. He looks behind himself first to make sure he is actually alone. No one is hiding behind the door, that‘s a relief. It‘s equipped with a series of locks and chains from the inside, though.

 

Mike‘s heart falls out of his body then. He turns to the stuffy, terrible smelling room again just to find _it!_ Past the ancient, stinking furniture, the probably broken TV, right next to what appears to be a small kitchen area, it stands like a portal to all answers of the universe; The door. Really, precisely _that_ specific door Mike has seen in his sleep so many times.

 

The pattern of flaking paint is exactly the same. Not just roughly, not similar, it‘s the same to fractions of inches. Mike can hear his own heartbeat. He can feel it, sense the heavy drops of sweat falling from his forehead to the rhythm of it, if that‘s even possible.

 

Suddenly aware that he is absolutely drenched, Mike gives in to the urge that is pointing him towards the door. He will open it! He will see what‘s behind and understand _everything!_ No more secrets! No more nights of cold sweat or clumsy attempts at taking his mind off things!

 

Mike‘s shaking, damp hand reaches for the doorknob. Just five inches left. Four inches. Three inches. It‘s like electric current flowing up his arm by now. Two inches.

 

_Click! Click! Click!_

 

His fingers never meet the metal. Thinking about it now, who the hell chops firewood on the hottest day of the year so far? Mike swallows hard. The noise has stopped. And those clicking sounds came from behind. Has it just become darker in here?

 

„Not as sneaky as you think, kid.“

 

Hand dropping back to his, limp and defeated, Mike takes in a shuddering breath. He came within inches of the truth. Now it‘s over. „When did you notice?“ he squeaks meekly.

 

The dark voice behind him cackles dryly. „Two minutes in. Don‘t worry about it. You learn that shit in Vietnam. You would‘ve had anyone else until you cracked that twig.“

 

Finally, Mike dares to look over his shoulder. The door is closed. Secured by three different locks. The figure in the cabin is tall, almost reaching the ceiling, towering over Mike like a shadow of death with an imposing ax in hand. He turns around fully then.

 

„You‘ve fucked up, you know that, right?“ the man goes on with all calmness in the world.

 

„What do you want from me?“ Mike whispers around the heavy lump in his throat. There is no way out. He might as well stall and live a few more minutes.

 

„What do I want from you?“ the bearded man bellows. „Coming from the boy who just invaded my home. What do you want from me?“

 

„A-are you Jim Hopper?“

 

„Do I really look that bad? Not the handsome guy I used to be, huh? Anyway, you haven‘t answered my question.“

 

There might still be a way out. So this _is_ Chief Hopper. Ex Chief Hopper. What did Will say about his mom and Hopper?

 

„You know me!“ Mike blurts, voice jumping with fear.

 

„Oh yeah?“ Hopper grunts. „Who are you then?“

 

„M-my name i-is Mike Wheeler. Remember? I‘m friends with Will Byers. You questioned me and my friends when Will went missing.“

 

„Wheeler, huh?“ Resting the ax on the wooden floor, the man scratches his beard. „Rings a bell.“ Mike‘s hopes are shattered when he moves in with heavy footsteps. He stinks of tobacco and booze. The ax moves slowly until the blade lies heavy on Mike‘s shoulder.

 

He feels himself tremble all over, fear constricting his throat. Not a word will come from it in that condition.

 

„Okay, kid. Here‘s what‘s gonna happen. You‘re going home. Fix yourself a nice glass of...“ Hopper‘s eyes blur for a moment. „How old are you?“

 

„F-fifteen.“ Mike presses out.

 

„Shit. Could‘ve sworn that Byers case was ten years ago. So you fix yourself a nice glass of water. Hug your mommy, go to bed and don‘t ever think about what happened today again.“

 

That‘s it? Just like that Mike is supposed to forget? The gruff man‘s words trigger some stubborn side of him, some sense of injustice. This is about _him_. Whatever it is. Or at least it has affected him during the last weeks, no doubt. So why can‘t he at least know? He has a right to know, god dammit!

 

„No.“

 

„What was that?“

 

„No!“ Mike hisses with all the firmness he can muster with a sharp blade pressed against him. „I wanna know why you‘ve been following me!“

 

„You‘re imagining things, boy. Do I have to repeat myself?“ The threatening quality in Jim Hopper‘s voice increases.

 

Mike won‘t have it, though. Every word from Hopper only manages to nourish his fury. „I‘m not leaving before you give me an answer! I‘ve seen you or your truck all over town for weeks, I mean you even followed me to school! That‘s just sick! Do you want to drive me crazy or something? You can‘t tell me you-“

 

Hopper‘s bear paw is heavy and incredibly fast against Mike‘s cheek. The slap is brutal enough to send him to his knees.

 

_Click! Click! Click!_

 

That are the door locks. Before he can regain his senses, Mike feels himself being dragged by his neck, scrambling to get to his feet. On the way out his gaze falls on the small table by the couch, an old coffee table that looks either like it‘s been her for thirty years or just recently taken from a messy thrift store. Papers are lying scattered all across it. Old, brown office folders, files. Mike desperately tries to read, pick up as much information as he can. Which only amounts to two words.

 

_Ives. Brenner._

 

Two names on two separate files. After that, it‘s blinding sunlight. And pain, as Mike is thrown down the porch, landing on his hands and knees. Cheek throbbing, palms bleeding, he glares up at Hopper.

 

„One more thing. If I see anyone snooping around here, I‘ll know who‘s responsible. Don‘t think I‘d hesitate to kill you.“

 

Mike understands, this is a genuine threat. So he does what he has to do. He flees. He won‘t tell anyone. But Mike _will_ remember.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Both cars are gone. The house is empty. Good. Mike isn‘t in the mood for making up a story about how he fell on his way back and somehow managed to hurt his palms _and_ his cheek at once. Not to mention his knees that have been killing him all the way home.

 

He is a mess and he knows it, but at least no one is here to know.

 

Trotting upstairs slowly, he whimpers at every step. Maybe this is all mercy. The pain, the moist heat, the exhaustion. Mike‘s mind is basically blank right now.

 

The bathroom is slightly cooler than the rest of the house. Mike locks the door out of habit and because he doesn‘t know how long he‘ll actually be in here. His hands are too shaky to get into focus, but by now they are all red and black from his blood and the damp earth of the forest ground. He whines pitifully when the jet of cold water from the sink hits them.

  
The mirror shows him no more than a blurry image of his face, cheek dark red and swollen. Then again, the world around the mirror is blurred as well. Mike pulls open the mirror cabinet, grabbing around inside until he has found the little bottle with pills. Toothbrushes, nail clippers, all that stuff ends up scattered in the sink and on the tiled floor. The cabinet falls shut.

 

It‘s an hour early. Whatever. Mike swallows his two pills as prescribed. The next thing he knows is, the room is spinning with bright lights that come close to burning off his retinas. Noises amplified to painful levels, like the steady flow of water from the tap that sounds like a waterfall, Mike‘s head thumps heavy against the cool glass of the mirror. His sobs are wet, ugly, nauseating even.

 

He could‘ve had ice cream today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?  
> Can you imagine the grin I'm sporting right now?
> 
> I can tell you this, the next chapter might become a favorite of mine too if I can get it done the way I've been imagining it for the last six months. Stay tuned because I'll get a four day weekend next week. Anything is possible!
> 
> PS: So close to 100k words. Like, AAAARGH!


	21. Darkness on the Edge of Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, well this isn't probably the big explanation you've been waiting for. Intentionally. Because there's going to be a next chapter and it will be a huge deal. I swear.  
> Also, I'm proud of myself. There, I've said it. I'm really pulling through with this story again and I'm having loads of fun. Can't wait to give you more.

The hour is early. Before 5AM actually, so the sun doesn‘t even cast a hint of light over the vast forests around Hawkins. This is just a curse. Mike wouldn‘t be up if he had to go to school. No, if his alarm was set to 6:30, he‘d be fast asleep right now. He‘d heave himself out of bed at the ring of his bedside torture device and feel like he didn‘t get enough sleep for the next sixteen or so hours.

 

But it‘s the first day of summer break, and sure enough Mike is wide awake an hour and a half before he‘d have to be on a regular day. Hell, he could sleep in as long as he wants to and yet here he is after what, five hours of sleep? In the evening he was too tired to even open the new bunch of letters that is still sitting on his desk. Though he smirked at his father‘s remark „You‘re getting more mail than your mom and me combined, son.“

 

It‘s true. One letter a week from each of his friends is the bare minimum right now. And since there is nothing else to do but wait for the sun to show its bright face over the treetops, Mike decides to get into opening and answering the newest messages from the lands of the insane and the healing.

 

The one up top, Mike knows, will be one of his favorites. He recognizes the delicate handwriting of Sally‘s mother, because the girl either can‘t write or just won‘t do it, the same way she possesses the ability to talk, but doesn‘t do it. It‘s okay, though. Sally knows how to get a message across without words, and Mike admires that. Plus, sometimes he finds a note written by either of Sally‘s parents, explaining a few additional things to him.

 

According to them, Sally has been making more progress in the few weeks since her release from the hospital than she had in six months before that.

 

Mike is careful not to damage the paper in the envelope. He finds two sheets, the one up top being a colorful crayon depiction of a house to the left of the page, along with three smiling figures to the right. Sally and her parents, obviously. There is also another somewhat weird looking blob of brown in the ground next to them, which is a bit hard to recognize in the dim light of Mike‘s bedside lamp. Well, the thing has a face. And five legs? No, that‘s four legs and a tail. They probably bought a dog.

 

When he finally recognizes it as that, Mike smirks. Good for them. He can imagine Sally being great with animals. Her second drawing is of a somewhat darker nature though, and it really manages to wipe the smile off his face again. The hospital is stylized but recognizable, if only by the huge red cross sitting on top of it. Which isn‘t there in real life, but whatever. The picture shows three people, Sally and her parents, walking away from the building and towards a car, with a frowning face staring out one of he unevenly sized windows.

 

Mike knew something in the lines of this would come eventually. Sally must be growing frustrated and Mike feels her. With Pete gone, him gone, Sally gone, Christie is now all alone in there. Not literally, but she is the only one left of their little group if you don‘t count Lawrence, who isn‘t particularly talkative.

 

Like that the time until her birthday in September must seem like an eternity, and weekly visits from Sally are only a small comfort, Mike imagines. Mike‘s bi-weekly appointments are the best days for Christie, of course.

  
He should probably write an answer before opening Pete‘s letter. Only, Mike is having trouble thinking of something. Maybe it should go a bit like _‚Hey, Sally. Don‘t worry about Christie too much. I‘m pretty sure I‘ll be back in there with her real soon and then you can visit me every week for another year or two.‘_

 

„Damn.“ Mike presses through gritted teeth. He shouldn‘t be so cynical about it, but what can he do? Mike is going mad. Absolutely and utterly insane. Again. The past weeks have only been fit to confirm that. Of course, Mike hasn‘t seen a hint of Jim Hopper again after his venture into the woods a few weeks back. Not the man himself, not the truck, no trace of either. If Mike hadn‘t spent a week peeling the scab off his scraped knees, he‘d think nothing at all happened that day.

 

But yeah, it was just another hallucination for the most part. Which makes sense. Mike roaming the woods in another psychotic episode, falling, hurting himself, it all kinda adds up. _Or does it?_

 

Mike had roast beef, potatoes and cauliflower for dinner last night. _Or did he?_

 

Mike beat Max‘s high score in _Paperboy_ a week ago. _Or did he?_

 

He never followed Jim Hopper into the woods, and there certainly is no cabin with a mystery concerning Mike inside. _Or is there?_

 

Mike sure as hell won‘t wander off into the woods again.

 

The big things, this supposed conspiracy or whatever it is, it all involves doubt for Mike. But so do the mundane things. Stuff normal people wouldn‘t waste another thought on. What _did_ Mike have for dinner? Did he have dinner at all, or was it just in his imagination? What game was it that he beat Max‘s high score in? _If he did at all!_

 

Well, there it goes. That half hour after waking up that Mike doesn‘t have to ponder on these things. So it‘s just going to be another day in hell. Mike eyes the little black diary on his desk. Sometimes he shuffles through it to keep track of all the lies he has been telling Barnes. To keep it consistent and not raise suspicion.

 

Though after all those weeks of going crazy once more, after every hellish hallucination, Mike is beginning to wonder if he should come clean. Either that, or he might end up hurting his friends again. Four days until his next appointment with the doctor.

 

Mike begins wiping his burning eyes aggressively. This has been going on for too long. It‘s time. Time to go back. Well, hospital food is better than high school lunch.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mike can all but feel the redhead‘s scowl, even with his eyes absently trained on the straw sticking out from his milkshake cup. The multi-colored stripes swirl in spirals around its entire length. A drop falls from the end and onto his hand.

 

„You guys are boring, you know that?“ Max huffs.

 

„As boring as last summer.“ Dustin shrugs. „Something you wanna do?“

 

„We can‘t sit in here all day.“

 

„Watch me.“

 

„But she‘s right.“ Lucas quickly comes to his girlfriend‘s defense. Of course he does. „The AC is nice and all, but do you guys really wanna spend like eight hours at the mall?“

 

His words prompt Mike to take a look around. Why not? He likes the life he‘s seeing. All the people walking, chatting, shopping, minding their own business. It somehow reminds him that the world will keep on turning, that there might be a life after insanity. Even if he is about to spend another few months locked up.

 

„I‘m totally okay with that.“ Mike speaks up.

 

„Just more proof that it‘s not okay.“ Max teases. „Oh come on you guys. It‘s literally the first day of summer and it‘s super nice outside. For Indiana standards.“

 

„It‘s hot!“ Dustin complains meekly.

 

„I could run around in a sweater and parka. We should visit my dad in California. Then you‘d see some _really_ hot days.“

 

„Hey guys, Max is right. Let‘s at least go out some.“ Will finally chimes in. „I kinda like it warm anyways.“

 

„I thought we could go to the pool.“ Max proposes. „Shouldn‘t be a problem if you think it‘s hot.“

 

 _Whatever_ , Mike thinks. At least it‘s going to be full. He just wants some people around today, if just to feel normal for one final time before he has to go back. „I‘d be fine with that. Haven‘t been swimming once this year.“

 

„Any objections, Henderson?“ Max sneers. „I know you _can_ swim, so that shouldn‘t be a problem?“

 

„I‘m good.“ Dustin flashes a tiny but devious grin. „Just wondering what Lucas has to say to that.“

 

„Sounds great.“ Lucas immediately blurts and Mike is absolutely positive it has _nothing_ to do with the fact that he is going to see his girlfriend in a bathing suit. „Uh, I mean, I don‘t really care what we‘re doing, y‘know. Swimming is fine. Totally fine with me if you guys are okay with it.“

 

„Smooth.“ Will notes. „Real smooth. Let‘s finish up first, okay?“

 

Prompted, Mike gazes at his burger and fries. He hasn‘t touched them so far and really isn‘t sure if he will. He should probably get something into his stomach if he is going to the pool, plus it‘s going to look weird if he doesn‘t eat at least half of his meal. Mike isn‘t particularly fond of Burger King, at least not compared to a proper homemade Burger or one from a real diner.

 

„Shame no one bought Benny‘s, huh?“ Will gives voice to Mike‘s thoughts. „I don‘t think I‘ve had a quality burger in three years.“

 

„Same as in California.“ Max says, struggling to keep food from falling out of her face. „The malls come, little stores go, and you‘re ending up with a ghost town.“

 

„Yeah.“ Will sighs. „My mom says Melvald‘s in in serious trouble right now. She‘s actually looking for jobs around here.“

 

„Dude, she‘s dating the manager of the only Radio Shack in town. She‘ll be fine.“ Dustin half-laughs. „There‘s gonna be a job in for her anytime.“

 

„Except she had to ask my help to rewind a VHS last week.“

 

„She didn‘t-“

 

„Figuratively.“ Will cuts his friend off. „I‘m just saying, she‘s bad with tech.“

 

„All moms are.“ Mike lets himself slip into the mercy of a normal conversation. He finally takes a bite from his food, only to find it cold and mushy. „My mom can spend an hour adjusting the antenna on the TV. And when dad said we should probably get cable she was like ‚What‘s the difference?‘. Don‘t know if she was serious, though.“

 

That gets a good laugh out of his friends. After his initial hesitation, Mike is glad he tagged along today. Especially because these are probably the last few days of freedom for him in a long while. He should enjoy the time while he can because he‘s aware how much summer behind bars in Chicago will suck.

 

„Last year I was kinda pro mall.“ Dustin contemplates. „Remember all these demonstrations and stuff? Kinda got on my nerves. But now. I mean, it‘s not all good.“

 

„This place is getting its own arcade.“ Lucas nods. „Sucks, huh? Think they‘re gonna close the Palace down because of it?“

 

„Arcades are doomed anyway.“ Mike sighs. Admittedly, he will miss the atmosphere, the sounds and the smell, but you don‘t stop the beat of time. „Just look at Nintendo. No one‘s gonna spend quarter after quarter on arcade machines when they can have _that_.“

 

„Home consoles are the future.“ Will notes with the seriousness of an expert. „The Atari is great, but a Nintendo is on my list already. That stuff looks super impressive in the ads.“

 

„Second place on your list though, huh?“

 

„Sure. I wanna get a car next year if I can. Mom wants to start teaching me next week or so.“ Will shows a small smile at the prospect. „I‘m kinda nervous about it. But just imagine all the places we could go if at least one of us could drive.“

 

„Don‘t worry too much.“ Mike reassures, though with a small pang. He won‘t be getting his license any time soon. „The first few times are scary. Then it‘s routine. My dad says I‘m pretty good.“

 

„Good enough to drive us all to the pool later?“ Max prods.

 

„Yeah, no.“ Mike chuckles awkwardly in response. „I‘m not gonna take a joyride. Forget it.“ _Not that it would make a difference_ , he thinks. Hospital or juvie, he‘s going away either way.

 

„Mike, you okay?“ Only when Lucas eyes him intently does Mike realize how fake his laughter probably sounded. The rest of the Party do the same, so Mike finds himself forced to think of something.

 

„I mean, joyriding with my... history? That‘d mean twice the trouble, I guess.“ is what he comes up with. If they knew what he knows they wouldn‘t laugh it off like they do.

 

„Sorry, Wheeler.“ Max apologizes curtly.

 

Mike forces himself to smile. „Don‘t sweat it.“ The expression quickly falls from his face when he is sure no one is looking. All while the supposedly relaxing muzak noodles on from overhead speakers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

All signs are pointing towards the summer of the century. If they had a few hot days in May in Hawkins, it would now be unbearable without either air conditioning or the community pool. Deadly even. The sunlight comes beating down on the little town with such force, it comes close to hurting.

 

Mike squints his eyes when he unlocks and pulls open the door of the small changing cubicle, key to his rented locker dangling from his wristband. He doesn‘t bother with sun lotion. A good sunburn is part of a good summer, and this might be his only chance to get himself one. A subtle expression of his need for punishment, he supposes.

 

Mike jumps a little, eager to get closer to the water before even attempting to find is friends, as the bricks under his feet are so hot they might leave blisters if he stays in one spot too long. It‘s better in places where sprays of water have darkened the ground. There it‘s just a pleasant warmth.

 

The yells and shrill shouts of kids, the splashing almost drowns out a shout. „Stop, you‘re gonna have a heart attack or-“

 

But right then Lucas pushes past Mike and just makes a leap for it with Max in tow. The water hits Mike cold and he has to fight not to squeak as loud as Max does once she is standing upright in the pool.

 

„Lucky none of the lifeguards noticed.“ Will, who has just come up next to Mike, giggles.

 

„I‘m just lucky Max‘s piece of shit stepbrother isn‘t here to bother us anymore.“ Mike utters, cautious not to look at his friend too long. He hasn‘t so much as seen the scar he cut into him since December.

 

„Mike?“ Will approaches him warily. Once more, Mike is see-through, made out of glass to his best friend. „It‘s okay. You barely even notice it. Just look and get it over with. You‘ve seen it before.“

 

Gritting his teeth, Mike takes a rather quick look before turning away again. As it seems, this is now permanent. A dark line right on Will‘s shoulder. Nothing spectacular, but a reminder of what happened. And of what will happen soon. „Alright. Seen it, dealt with it.“

 

„Aw.“ Will coos, irony filling up his voice. „I‘d give you a hug but that‘d be weird.“

 

„Totally.“

 

„Let me try something, okay. Here, I‘m just gonna-“

 

There is no way to prepare for Will reaching out, putting all his meager body weight into a forceful push that has Mike stumbling until he trips over and falls. Right into the tiled blue of the pool.

 

„Oh shit...“ is the last yell he gets out before he is immersed in water. The blisteringly cold water of a Siberian lake. Not really, but it‘s close enough. Even when he finds the strength to turn and stick his head back above the surface, his lungs can‘t seem to suck in any air at all.

 

„God dammit, Byers!“ a shout comes from somewhere behind Will, who is grinning down on Mike. „I wanted to do that!“ Dustin laments.

 

„I know.“ Will laughs. „Made it twice the fun.“ Dustin‘s scowl coaxes a sigh out of him. „Alright, step back, Mike. Do what you have to do, Dustin.“

 

„It‘s no fun when you know what‘s coming.“ their curly-haired friend grumbles. „Look.“

 

A small push later, Will lands in the water too and he keeps it together better than Mike did. He still squeals like a little child when he emerges.

 

„Okay, your turn!“ Mike demands of Dustin. „Or are you gonna use the steps like a little girl?“

 

„Careful!“ Max warns from the spot where she‘s been splashing water at Lucas for the last minute. She quickly goes back to messing around with her boyfriend, naturally.

 

„At least they‘re not making out.“ Dustin remarks.

 

That is true. Because they basically do it whenever they feel unobserved, which often ends with Mike, Dustin and Will seeing things they‘d rather forget.

 

Mike becomes comfortable in the water eventually. Comfortable enough to splash around with his friends, laugh when he is hit right in the face or dunked underwater for a few seconds, and generally have a good time.

 

And yes, Mike does notice how Lucas and Max are constantly making eyes at each other. He would be lying if he claimed he doesn‘t look. It just happens. Not something you turn off, especially not when you‘re expecting to spend another few months where there aren‘t any girls in bathing suits. Plus he at least believes to notice how Will is checking out boys.

 

The perks of going to a public pool instead of just jumping in the quarry like they did sometimes last summer to avoid lifeguard Billy Hargrove.

 

 

* * *

 

 

„I can‘t believe they‘re still at it.“

 

Mike drags his tongue across the ball of strawberry ice cream resting in its cone, savoring every last second of this moment. Maybe he should have brought sunglasses. He feels like he is being cooked _and_ blinded on his plastic sun lounger that was way too hot to lie down on initially. „Yup. And when they‘re out of ice cream, Dustin won‘t shut up about it all day.“

 

Watching his other three friends having fun in the water, Mike gets what Will is about. They‘ve been jumping and splashing around like that for what, two hours? While Mike is positively drained already. Plus he had been getting pretty cold before he climbed out of the pool with Will close behind.

 

They got themselves ice cream, found two free sun loungers and just flopped down. The last few hours have been dragging on slowly, and Mike wouldn‘t want to have it any other day.

 

„Plans for tomorrow?“ Will asks casually.

 

„Don‘t know yet. Any good movies at the theater right now?“ Mike ponders.

 

Will flicks his tongue with a clack. „It‘s not a good summer all in all. I mean yeah, we got Top Gun. The new Star Trek, but who is still watching _that_? Karate Kid II-“

 

„Didn‘t like the first one too much.“

 

„Me neither.“ Will agrees. „Not interested in Platoon either, but Lucas really wants to see it.“

 

„Surprise surprise.“ Mike chuckles. „I don‘t know I‘m kinda in the mood for something funny.“

 

„Ferris Bueller‘s Day Off? I‘m gonna see if they‘re showing it tomorrow.“ Will suggests. „I heard it‘s pretty good. Too bad we can‘t see Aliens until next month.“

 

„Yeah.“ Mike says, maybe too darkly. „Next month.“ Because he just can‘t tell Will _‚I won‘t be here next month.‘._ But even worse, he can‘t tell Will that he‘s sorry. How much he‘s going to miss Will and the others. Even more than last time, perhaps.

 

The shock will be terrible for them. When Mike looks at Will now, all relaxed and content with how things are, he wants to cry, but he cant. He won‘t allow himself to.

 

„Hey, remember how you asked me about Chief Hopper?“

 

Will‘s question hangs between them in the dry, burning air all of a sudden. Mike drops his ice cream, which is... unfortunate. But right now he can almost see the letters.

 

‚ _Remember how you asked me about Chief Hopper?‘_

 

And the words seem to grow limbs. And the limbs seem to kick Mike right in the stomach.

 

„What?“ He coughs up a few traces of ice cream and waffle cone, that all land on his own arm. „About-“

 

„Yeah, about Chief Hopper. One day after school you asked if I‘d seen him. Remember?“ Will clarifies.

 

„Y-yeah. I remember.“ Mike stutters, mind going into absolute overdrive. „Just w-wondering why you‘re bringing it up. Y-you didn‘t-“

 

„My mom saw him. She thinks. She‘s not entirely sure.“

 

„When...“ It‘s not just his mind. Mike‘s breath hitches to a point where it begins hurting him. „When... did she... tell you.“

 

„Jeez, Mike, you okay?“

 

„Just answer!“ Mike prompts. „Please!“

 

„Just when I went home to get my trunks and towel and stuff.“ Will goes on, sitting up straight. He looks more than bewildered by now. „But she‘s not really sure. Looks like he changed a lot. Like, she was really shocked at how old he‘s looking.“

 

„Yeah, he‘s getting really gray.“ Mike mumbles more to himself. If there is any quick way for him to process this, he hasn‘t found it yet. What does that mean?

 

That everything was real? Mike didn‘t imagine following some hobo looking ex cop into his cabin in the woods, as ridiculously made up as it may seem?

 

That he just saw Jim Hopper around and his mind fabricated a story about a cabin and a door and this whole weird not-quite-stalking because it was just so damaged already?

 

Or just that Mrs Byers plain out made a mistake?

 

Not that last one. There‘s no way it could be a coincidence. Mike‘s stare has long grown distant and he knows it.

 

„Mike? Dude, you‘re scaring me. What‘s up?“ Will gently pokes his shoulder with one finger.

 

„Yeah, no.“ Attempting to shake the dizzy haze in his head away, Mike stands up straight. „Tell the others goodbye from me, okay? I‘m... I‘m not feeling to well.“ His mind doesn‘t quite possess the capacity to make up a lie.

 

„You‘re going home?“

 

„I guess. Yeah.“

 

Mike can‘t even look at Will. He just needs to get out. Away from here, away from all the people who could witness his next breakdown he _knows_ is coming. He heads straight for the lockers from where he picks up his clothes, then directly to the changing rooms, where he locks himself in.

 

A knock. „Mike?“

 

„Yeah, I‘m not gonna let you in, Will.“ Mike grunts. „I‘m about to pull down my trunks, y‘know.“

 

„I know, I know.“ Will sighs from the other side. „It‘s getting worse again, isn‘t it? Don‘t think I didn‘t notice.“

 

„All due respect, you have no idea.“ Mike says harshly, rubbing the towel all over himself until his skin begins turning red, although he has long dried from half an hour in the sun. „Just leave me alone.“

 

But Will insists „No. You‘ve been acting weird for weeks and I‘ve had it. Mike, I‘m gonna tell your mom.“ It‘s not one of the childhood threats where kids yell ‚I‘m gonna tell on you.‘

 

This goes deeper, and Mike understands. „I‘m gonna figure things out on my own.“

 

„But you‘re not. Look, no one else noticed, but I‘ve been worrying for... I don‘t even know how long. And I kinda thought it was gonna get better. Remember where that got us last time?“ Will sounds desperate. „I‘ve made up my mind. I know it‘ll help you.“

 

Mike is about done changing by the time Will is done rambling. Mike slowly opens the door to find Will scowling with red, puffy eyes. „Will, I‘m gonna figure it out.“ he says, softly this time. „I know you want to help, but if your mom really saw Chief Hopper-“

 

„But what does he have to do with anything?“ Will almost yells. „I‘ve had it! Just tell me or I‘ll be at your house even before you get there.“

 

„Yeah, you‘re a pretty fast runner.“ Mike heaves a sigh. „Okay. You can tell my mom whatever you want. Tomorrow.“

 

Will, taken aback, bites his lip. „What good could one day do?“

 

„What damage could it do?“ Mike returns. „I... I wanted to tell Doctor Barnes anyways. I‘ve made up my mind too. And if that means I‘m going away again...“

 

„One day?“

 

„One night.“ Mike says honestly. „If I‘m not on your doorstep at ten tomorrow morning, you can go ahead and do what you have to do.“

 

„You... you‘re not about to do anything stupid.“ Will whispers. „Right?“

 

„Do you believe me if I say no?“

 

„I don‘t know.“

 

„If I promise?“

 

Will‘s voice fails him, and he steps closer so Mike can hear. „If you... I mean, if anything happens to you tonight... you‘re going to hell.“

 

Mike swallows hard at the implication. The worst part of it is that Will is even forced to _think_ of something like that. „I got it.“ he says sincerely.

 

„What should I tell the others?“ Will sniffs with a look over his shoulder.

 

Mike contemplates this. „The truth. Tell them to be at your house in the morning.“ Because he can‘t stand this talk any longer, Mike turns to leave. The door to the changing cubicle slams behind him, and he finds the lock red. „Will?“

 

No answer. Just quiet sniffling from the other side.

 

Hand resting on the wood of the door, Mike‘s eyes fix on the ground in shame. He wish he could say more than „I‘ll see you in the morning. Promise.“

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _I‘m in hell if you‘re reading this_.

 

With a heavy heart Mike chuckles at this. He then goes on to crumble the sheet of paper and throw it in the trash. No, that‘s too grim. Also, he doesn‘t want to make it look like he is making fun of Will.

 

„Let‘s see...“ he mumbles to himself with a fresh sheet of paper in front of him.

 

_I‘m sorry I‘m not here._

 

Probably as good a start as he can come up with right now. His pencil is already riddled with bite marks.

 

_I really hope I‘m not dead if you‘re reading this. But I‘ve done something stupid. Something has been going on around me ever since I came back home. Maybe I‘m losing my mind again, but maybe I‘m right. I‘ve gone out to get to the bottom of this. If you head out of town to the south, there‘s a path into the woods on Weston Street. If you follow it to where it ends and then walk for about five minutes further, you will find a cabin. If I‘m not crazy. I could be there, but there is a chance I‘m dead._

 

Mike wants to close with a greeting to everyone individually. Mom, dad, Nancy, Holly, his friends, maybe even Mrs Byers and Jonathan. But that would probably overdo it for a note he is ninety percent sure no one will ever read, unless his mom or dad decide to come into his room tonight, in which case he will be fucked.

 

It‘s already dark out. Past 10PM, so Mike has only twelve hours to appear on Will‘s doorstep in one piece. It‘s time to jump into action. He deposits the note under his pillow, just to be sure. If things really go to shit, they‘re going to search his room.

 

Mike takes with him what he thinks he could need. A flashlight to find his way through the woods in hopes the light won‘t give him away to anyone. A pocket knife, though he doubts it would help him against that bear of a man with his guns. A notebook and pen to copy information if he can get his hands on one of the folders he has seen. _Ives... Brenner..._ What do these names mean? Are there more? A pack of granola bars. For whatever reason. Lastly, a pea whistle to startle an attacker.

 

Mike slips outside unheard through the front door. The gate to the garage is closed and it would make way too much noise. As far as he can tell, everyone is sleeping soundly when he leaves and he hopes that will still be the case when he returns.

 

Finding the path into the woods isn‘t a problem; It‘s on the other side of town though, so Mike has to cover some distance on mostly empty streets. He avoids places where he might find people. The Hawk, for example. Mike doesn‘t think he should be seen by anyone right now, so he sticks to residential areas, even if it means a longer detour for him.

 

It feels a bit like a game he used to play with Will, Lucas and Dustin when they were kids. Whenever they got the opportunity, they would sneak outside at night and stray as far from home as they dared. Until neither of them minded anymore and they explored the town freely even at midnight. This always held a strange sense of adventure for Mike, and he is feeling that again right now.

 

It‘s still hot, but humidity has crept into the air in the last few hours. If he has to run, he won‘t last long. The world seems peaceful around Mike as he creeps past bright windows, street signs, trashcans. There might be a thunderstorm coming, though it should still be far away. Hopefully Mike will live to see it.

 

He swallows dry when the path between the trees opens up for him like a gate into a black abyss. Mike leaps right in, probing first. Will his eyes adapt enough to make the flashlight unnecessary? Turns out they don‘t, so Mike is forced to use it. He is well aware it could betray him.

 

His footsteps sound like cannon fire to him, the crickets almost inaudible in comparison. There is no one to follow right now, though, and Mike hurries up. All he can see is the cone of light in front. Whenever he feels compelled to look over his shoulder to check if anyone or anything is there, it‘s all just black. The deepest black he has ever seen.

 

Noises make him flinch or jump. He is defenseless with his back turned towards a dark emptiness where _anything_ could be lurking.

 

 _Demogorgon!_ his mind screams. Mike shivers. There is no such thing. At least the trail feels secure and solid under his shoes. It‘s not particularly hard to follow.

 

„Shit!“ Mike curses, muffled by his own hand. He must have been walking way longer than he thought because he trips over something. A root. A tree stump. Whatever. All he realizes is that it marks the end of his path. There is nothing ahead but forest. Trees, more trees, and oh, what a surprise, trees.

 

This is either a good sign, or a horrible one. The truck isn‘t here. Hopper might be out. Or he was never here and Mike will end up straying into the woods for hours, getting lost in the process.

 

Rustling leaves. Something moving. Squirrels, Mike supposes. It still chills him to the point of goosebumps. But he presses on, all while trying to remember how long he actually walked the last time. It would be a shame if he gave up almost in reach of the cabin. The flashlight remains on for now.

 

Mike hardly remembers what being sedated in the middle of a psychotic episode feels like. The feeling he gets when a small, ramshackle cabin, clumsily cobbled together from dark planks of wood, appears in the distance comes close though.

 

From there, Mike carries himself on absolutely entranced by the sight, not even bothering with the dangerous flashlight. He does think of the tripwire, though. And there it is! Proof that someone doesn‘t want people around here!

 

A wish that Mike ignores when he climbs across the wire and sneaks up the porch. Yes, his heart is pounding like a machine gun. Sure, he must fear for his life now because he doesn‘t doubt Jim Hopper is a dangerous man. Does he care when he takes hold of the doorknob and pushes the unlocked door open? Not enough to turn back now.

 

The place is empty and just like Mike remembers it. Windows blocked off, small kitchen, the couch, armchair left deserted and gathering dust. But the door is still there too. By now, after all those dreams, Mike could paint a detailed picture of it. So detailed it would put Will to shame.

 

And Mike has learned his lesson. His hand shaking worse than last time, he reaches out and just pushes it open. More than that, he all but slams it against the wall because _holy shit_ , he just wants to know what is on the other side.

 

The same instance almost has him scream in frustration. Because there is _nothing! Nothing of importance!_ A bed, complete with sheets and pillows that look just plain out old and disgusting! A window! A few empty shelves!

 

No! This can‘t be it! It can‘t be! Mike didn‘t just walk through the woods in the middle of the night for _this!_ He didn‘t suffer through nightmares night and day for an empty room!

 

Mike does scream. Whoever might hear him now can fuck themselves and do what they have to do. Mike doesn‘t care when he grabs the mattress at the corner and flips it over in a fit of rage. There should be mountains over mountains of file folders in here! Papers that explain _everything!_

 

Two things happen at once. Mike‘s gaze finds a stuffed bear right under the slatted frame. But more importantly, engine noises. A deep growl, no doubt from a certain pickup, not far from the cabin. Similar to earlier today, Mike feels as if submerged in ice water.

 

„Fuck!“ he curses, scurrying to get everything back into the relative order he found it in. The mattress goes in the frame. The pillows up top along with the blanket.

 

By the time he is done, Mike realizes it‘s too late to flee. He would be caught. He might end up murdered. All he can do is pray that Hopper won‘t come into the small bedroom. At least judging from the dust, the man doesn‘t use this bed.

 

Mike listens. He spies through the keyhole. Lights are turned on. It really is him; Jim Hopper, just the way Mike has seen him a few weeks ago. And it‘s evident that he is in a hurry. Heavy boots clack across the wooden floor. Hinges creak. The angle makes it impossible for Mike to see what‘s going on, but it must be locker of sorts Hopper has just opened. A trapdoor in the floor, perhaps?

 

What Mike does see is that, less than a minute later, the ex chief is in view again, carrying a brown folder similar to the ones that were lying on the table when he dragged Mike outside last time.

 

A strange sense of disappointment and relief overcomes Mike when the lights are turned back off and Hopper just leaves, scratching his beard at one last glance back into the cabin.

 

Still, Mike doesn‘t dare to move a finger. Not until the unmistakable sound of a starter motor followed by the uneven roar of a truck engine echoes around the cabin.

 

Mike relaxes, but still continues to wait. Under his flashlight he watches the seconds tick by on his Casio watch. Not just seconds, minutes. Minutes Hopper spends with the engine running in idle.

 

He should search the cabin now. Mike knows that. He might find the locker, or the latch, or whatever Hopper opened a few minutes ago. He might find the files.

 

Or... Or Mike could do something entirely different. Something so stupid it could fall into the category of things that will land him in hell, as Will put it. Something deadly.

 

Mike steps out of the cabin, flashlight off. The glowing red orbs of Hopper‘s rear lights are enough for orientation and the engine will drown out Mike‘s footsteps that he doesn‘t pay attention to anymore.

 

Mike finds the tripwire and climbs across.

 

He clears the distance to the running truck, transfixed by red in the dark.

 

He catiously, as not to shake the truck up too much, uses one of the rear wheels as a step of sorts to get into the bed of the truck. A hard, rusty place where he finds himself between two spare tires and something that might be a packaged tent.

 

He has to keep his head down, of course, or Hopper might see him in his mirror. What Mike can make out is that the man has the overhead light on right now. Reading, perhaps?

 

Whatever he is doing, it stops promptly. The light turns off. An ugly clack from the old gearbox follows, and as the engine howls, Mike feels a jolt. The truck creeps off across a bumpy ground that hurts Mike with every little stone, every dent in the path.

 

Out of the woods. Right into town. Houses fly by. Closed stores with illuminated signs in front. With every foot they cover Mike feels his opportunities to jump off and head home slip away from him. One after the other. He could get out of this with a few bruises. But that would leave him no step further and still caught in this spider web of mysteries.

 

Scars. Dreams. The door. The files. The fact that Hopper even exists. Everything is connected. Everything plays into this... whatever it is.

 

Mike‘s last contemplation on fleeing ends with the thought _Looks like I‘m going north._

 

He settles on that while Hopper‘s truck carries him into the darkness on the edge of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? This does hint that you're in for a treat, right?  
> I'm kinda sorry it got so excessive towards the end but I wanted to keep it tense and descriptive. Leave comments. Please. Seriously, every single one gives a this sort of smug, satisfied grin.


End file.
